


State of Flux

by LuciferIsSatan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Emotionally Compromising Situations, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Other, Past Drug Use, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 189,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferIsSatan/pseuds/LuciferIsSatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby Singers life had always been something normal, everyday, black and white. Until a business man with an odd accent stumbled upon his door and flipped everything backwards. Starting an unpredictable constant state of flux, leaving no questions asked, and no room for uncertainty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've seen plenty of human!au's before, but usually nothing for this pair to this extent. Overall, there will be a little more than 70 chapters altogether (so, brace yourself for the long haul). The first 10 or so chapters are barely beta-read by myself, but as the chapter progress, so does the quality, so bare with me here. (Once this story is finished, I intend to go back and edit everything properly.)
> 
> This is also on my Fanfiction.net account, and both are constantly updated together. This is for those who haven't seen it, and I felt it should be published on this site as well.

Time, time, time, never enough or too much, it speeds by in a flash of numbers and gets lost all in itself, as well as to everyone else. There was never, and will never, be enough to go around; this is a fast paced society, people need results and they need them then and now. High demand, high expectations, and high outcomes, it was consistently too high that it was always just nearly out of reach.

Bobby Singer felt more rushed than he would dare admit. He may have been older, but he was capable of getting things done at certain points and hitting his deadlines straight on the dot. Perhaps he was just needed too often, or maybe he just had a lot of time on his hands, but that didn't mean he didn't feel as if the world expected maybe a bit too much for his aging brain.

Or maybe he just complained too much.

Rough, worn hands ran over the pages of an old book he 'borrowed' from the library a few miles off. Fingers calloused from frequent gun use, and rough from working on his ' _car museum_ ' surrounding his house. The pads of his palm deeply scarred, with the edges roughed out from years of not necessarily kind use. His fingers pressed at the side of the soft, worn page, with a flick of his thumb, he was turning it, the soft sound scraping gently as the page settled.

Too many calls in a single day; Ellen and Jo needed several tips on how to set up an old raccoon trap, Rufus called in on a rat infestation wanting to know how best to deal with it. Although Bobby wasn't the one you should call for _Pest control,_ he did know a thing or two. Sam needed information on how to deal with catching a few bears that were lurking around his neighborhood, while a few old friends had rang in for some simple 'wilderness survival' tips that he was sure had to have been second nature; but it wouldn't be the first time he had been proven wrong.

Right now, he had to look for what kind of insect had been causing this strange outbreak up in Virginia where Dean and his wife Lisa lived. It seemed that Ben had been infected and they just wanted to know what they were dealing with. Their doctor, or whoever-the-hell-they-went-to-for-medical-help couldn't put a diagnosis for some disease they had expected it to be, and said it had been a severe allergic reaction. That seemed normal enough, but then again, there was a catch. Seemed to be that all children under the age of seventeen and above three had caught the damn thing, which, seeing as it should have been a given, looked as if it had originated from some kind of insect. There were tiny bite marks all up Ben’s arms and legs, and Bobby was downright bewildered that the doctor had brushed it off as unimportant. Dean must have felt the same way he did about the situation, so eventually he’d called Bobby up to help him handle it.

Bobby had been sitting there for, maybe, a couple of hours, although it felt like decades had passed. Having been hunched over for a good majority of the time, his back slowly beginning to ache with the lack of movement it was suffering from, especially in such a laboring position. The hunter let a heavy sigh pass his thin lips, a hand moving to scratch the side of his bearded chin, before pushing against the arms of his chair to stand.

Too many bugs, on too many pages, in too many books. His head hurt.

Bobby loved reading, almost as much as he loved hunting, but not everyone can sit for hours researching for something he wasn't even entirely sure he could find. Poisonous bugs, 8-legged insects with fangs, cockroaches with a backbone, and too many with wings to willingly count.

Placing a heavy hand on his hips, he leaned backwards, cracking his back in the process. Bobby could hear the faint _pops_ as he did so, straightening himself out as another puff of air escaped his lips. Rough hands moved over his tired face, reaching to pull off his worn-out baseball cap, running his fingers through his ruffled hair before plopping it back down onto his head.

It was always the same, every single day. 

A simple routine, one of his own that he never bothered to try and change because it caused too much effort on his end. It was just easier to follow along the pattern from when he woke up in the morning to the evening when he was tuckered out and ready for sleep; to simply wake up every day, work on hunts and maybe grab a bite or two when he was hungry and had the time. Sometimes, if the calls were going easy and the day had been relatively slow, he’d work on that old 67’ Chevy Impala he had just rotting away in the back. The one that brought his boys to him, safe and tucked away in their car seats, sleeping and small. Sometimes he forgot about it, the car he meant, and sometimes he found himself fretting over it, checking every inch to make sure it was clean and intact. To pore over every corner and fix the little things that had begun to wear over time.

Bobby liked the car, very much actually, but he knew that Dean was dying to get his hands on it.

Every day was a still routine of get up, work, and go to bed. Back and forth like a windmill or the beat of a metronome, it was steady and barely changed, maybe tweaked sometimes, but it never tampered with his everyday life. After Karen had died, every outside source, every extra activity, everything, was cut. He stayed simple and forgot all those people who connected him to his late wife, who trapped him in her memory when all he wanted was to be free of the melancholy state that a mourning husband should be in. He dedicated his life to hunting and helping, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon.

Bobby stepped into his dirty old kitchen, heavy eyes glancing momentarily at the dishes stacked mountain high in his sink, but decided to hold it off for another day like he always did, before his hand slipped across the cool handle of his fridge, prying it open.

It was empty, for the most part, some leftover Chinese food from last week still sat in the middle, with a couple of beer bottles, and a few aluminum wrapped somethings he didn't dare touch, afraid it might lash back. He eyed the inside door, and saw the average ketchup bottle, half-empty mustard, jam, and a few packages of soy sauce.

Looks like take-out again.

If Karen could see him now… Bobby felt a sad chuckle pass his lips. She would probably scold him for being so sloppy. Yell at him for the lack of care he took of his body with how he barely ate, or gave such a lack of consideration about his health or hygiene. He still showered occasionally, and brushed his teeth frequently like a good boy, but sometimes the simple human necessity just became more of a chore and would quickly be forgotten as he’d find himself engrossed in something else entirely.

She'd be disappointed, needless to say.

Closing the fridge, he made his way over piles of paper and scattered books before grabbing the phone. Dialing in the familiar number, and ordering Chinese once again. Same dish, same rice, same sauce, and the same man over the phone. It was the same, and Bobby couldn't find any room to complain; he enjoyed the routine and the safety he felt because of it. He liked the familiar sounds of voices, and the recognizable taste on his tongue, the smell of an old book, which had been read far too many times, the sound of pages, the sight of a freshly opened beer, and how the cold frosted waves of white air would just burst from the tip when he opened up a new bottle.

The man's raspy voice on the other end gave the time that the food should arrive, which the hunter could probably recite by now, and hung up. The phone was placed on top of the table where he had snatched it up, and the elder man leaned against the wooden table.

He really should be looking at those insects.

Pages slipped on by with engrossed descriptions of venomous to poisonous insects, some with eight legs and some with six. Listing from endangered to extinct, all the way to overpopulated. All of the above, but not limited to. The elder man mumbled under his breath. Dean needed him to be on track right now, for Ben's sake. Bobby grumbled, but forced himself to push off of the table; the moment his hands slide away from the wooden top, there was a heavy knocking on his front door.

Bobby glanced over at the door’s general direction, an eyebrow raising slightly on his weary face. There was no way in hell the delivery guy was here yet, if anything he was usually barely on time. Bobby crossed his fingers, hoping it wasn't Rufus stopping by for a "visit" which always consisted of him having to fix up Rufus’ damn rust bucket of a car.

The hunter stepped over the mess covering his floor, and mentally scheduled a day to put all those books back on their shelves. Perhaps he'd call over one of the boys and see if they'd help out, it'd be great to have some company while he sorted through the mess.

Half-way to the door, the pounding started up again. "I'm comin', I'm comin'," he shouted loudly, somewhat annoyed, but didn't think much of it. He stepped over a few coats that had fallen, and instinctively bent down to put them back on the rack, before reaching to grab the door handle.

The evening sun was beginning to set. Bobby could tell by how the sky was a deep red, with a vivid orange lacing around the edges. The bittersweet smell of fallen autumn leaves brushed against the hunter’s face, who paid it little to no mind, allowing the cool air to blow past him, stirring up some of papers behind him.

Bobby’s face showed a look of surprise at the sight man standing in front of him, not because he didn't want to see him, but more because he hadn't any goddamn idea who he was. Half-expecting it to be a ‘friend’ or someone he ended up helping more than he liked; Bobby never got random visitors, especially from strangers.

"Can I help you?" Bobby muttered carefully, eyeing the man in his doorway suspiciously.

The man was a bit shorter than the hunter, but not by much. He was wearing a sort of formal attire, that looked recently tattered, if not originally expensive; All black clothes, like the guy was headed to some sort of funeral or something akin. Black slacks, black button up shirt under a soft looking black trench coat that looked custom made; Black shined shoes. Guy looked real tidy.

"Ah, yes," the man uttered, his voice sounded a bit strange. He definitely wasn't from around here, he didn’t even sound like he was from America; but Bobby couldn't exactly place the accent right of the bat, but he was certain it was European.

"I've been in a bit of an accident," the pale man turned his head to look behind himself for a moment, before turning his attention back to the hunter. "My phone's as dead as a dodo bird, and I can't seem to contact anyone for help." He shuffled on his feet, glancing down briefly before meeting the hunter’s eyes, watching him steadily. "Mind if I use your phone?"

This guy had eyes as sharp as a knife, and Bobby felt that if he wasn't careful he'd somehow surgically chop him to bits; it was almost cynical—the way the man looked at him. Bobby stood stupidly in his door frame for a split second, his mind whirling. He briefly considered telling the guy he couldn't help him, but he couldn't do that. ‘Course not, the poor guy had probably been through enough as it was, and maybe had the door slammed in his face already. Bobby only missed a beat, before stepping aside.

"Not at all, c'mon in," he muttered, letting the man brush by him, uttering a small 'thank you.'

"Sorry, 'bout the mess," Bobby said with a twinge of dissatisfaction, "Hadn't expected anyone to come over."

"It's quite alright," the trench coated man stated, eyes taking in the scenery a moment before they spotted the phone, still resting on the wooden table where Bobby left it moments before. He stepped over books and clutter, careful not to harm anything before grabbing the device, thumbs quickly moving over the dials in a rhythm that showed the man had a bit of experience with such devices, unlike most who lived down in the hunter’s neck of the woods.

The man brought the phone to his ear, and Bobby watched as he waited, the soft sound of beeps echoing before there was a distinct click, and a voice muffled on the other end. "It's me- Ah, yes, well, there has been a bit of an accident-"

The trench coated man spoke to the other person on the phone, tone clipped and crisp, speaking the same way he dressed; precise. Bobby thought it wise to let him be. Turning around, he looked at the clutter on his desk. With a slight grunt, his hands grabbed the pile of books, before straightening them out.

He could hear the accented voice behind him explain his current situation, but didn't really listen to the words; It wasn't any of his business to be meddling in strangers private affairs. Moving, Bobby began placing the books back onto his shelf, clearing off his desk, and finally straightening a few pages before he heard the sound of a clearing throat behind him. The hunter looked up from the wooden desk, the trenched man standing with his hands in his trench coat pockets, the phone set on the side table.

"I'll be out of your hair in a few minutes," the man began, voice a bit slower than when he was talking on the phone, but still holding that cynical tone in it. Almost bored or disinterested. "I apologize for intruding in on your home like this."

"It's not a problem," Bobby gave a polite smile, "I would have wanted the same done for me."

"Of course." The trench coated man fell silent after that, his eyes wandering around the room, taking in the cluttered sight, but not seeming to be bothered by it. The silence made the hunter somewhat uncomfortable. There was a stranger in his house for heavens sake, might as well talk to 'em.

"So what exactly happened out there?" Bobby heard himself saying, drawing those sharp, dark eyes back in his direction. Bobby didn't really look at the guy from the door, other than by his attire, but without all that light from outside blinding him he was able to get a decent look at the stranger.

Noted, the man was very pale, dark hair, to which the hunter couldn't decide if it was ebony or brunette; he didn't drift on the thought long. The strands were short and combed, a few stray hairs sticking up and Bobby could imagine the stranger having a fuss about the little imperfections as he got ready for his classy job. The stranger had a roundish face, a soft stubble that looked recently shaved but neglected to be finished off entirely, and a sort of subtle pudginess about him that wasn't fat nor thin; With these deep piercing eyes, the lighting in the room preventing the hunter from seeing the color.

He looked like an average guy, but something about him seemed sharp. Bobby felt that if he wasn't careful, he'd end up getting cut but the edges.

"Car accident," the trench coated man answered, voice a soft, annoyed growl, sounding as if this wasn't the first time his car decided to fly away from him. 

"My bloody engine failed, and now I'm late for an appointment." As he muttered the last part his eyes flickered to his watch, which was strapped around his wrist, there was a sort of light that flashed across his face, like a dawning, before he stepped forward. 

"How rude of me, I never introduced myself." He held out his hand, to which the hunter took firmly in his own, black leather against rough skin. "The name's Fergus McLeod, but you can call me Crowley."

"Robert Singer, but Bobby work's fine too." Dropping the man's hand, he watched as Crowley straightened up his trench coat. "You alright?"

"Peachy," Crowley frowned, but shrugged it off. "The car is a piece of junk."

"I could take a look at it, if you want." Bobby wasn't sure why he offered, but at the moment it seemed like the polite thing to do. After all, this guy was probably rich and could buy a few brand new cars if he decided, and most likely didn't need his help; however, he was surprised when the man smiled at him.

"Oh you don't have to do that," he waved, "I just met you, I'm not going to force you on your knees to work for me."

"It's no trouble," Bobby amended, "If you couldn't tell, I don't got much else to do," he waved idly a moment, obviously referring to the thousands of cars outside of his house, and the clutter building up inside, "Workin' on cars is the least of my worries."

The man paused, his upper teeth barely scraping over his lower lip before deciding with what to say. "You don't mind?"

"Well 'course not, wouldn't want another accident, now would you?" Crowley let off a light chuckle.

"I suppose I don't."

Bobby chuckled himself, it felt good to chuckle, he should do it more often. "Is someone coming to get you?"

"Yes, Meg, my assistant," Crowley answered, with a slight twinge of distaste on his tongue, "Can never get good help these days."

Bobby nodded absentmindedly, although, he didn't exactly have a point of reference to agree; any help was good help, at least in Bobby's book. He watched the guy a moment, silently wondering what he did for a living, but was cut off by another knock at the door. "One second," he muttered to the man, before heading off to the door, opening it up once again.

A woman stood there, dark hair, with a sort of cynical attitude hanging on her shoulder. Still not the Chinese delivery guy.

"Think your ride's here," Bobby called over his shoulder. Crowley appearing by his side moments later, before giving him a small smile.

"Thank you, Robert, for your hospitality." Robert, nobody calls him Robert. It was almost weird to hear. Bobby nodded, uttering an 'any time,' and the man patted the side of his vest, as if an awkward try to thank him, before nodding to... Meg, Bobby guessed, and stepping out of the door.

The hunter watched them walk away from his house before closing the door, and running a hand over his face. He'd had two random visits already, and his Chinese still wasn't here. Bobby could hear his stomach making unpleasant noises at him, a hand idly moving to his abdomen until something hard in his pocket brushed across his hand.

Bobby thought nothing of it, before walking into the room once again, eyes dragging over his desk a moment, before they landed on the floor. He really did need to pick up in here.

Minutes passed by, and one by one, each book found its original home back on his shelf, papers were stacked and filed away in the drawers of his desk, until the room finally looked halfway decent. His eyes darted over to the kitchen where the stack of dishes were mountain high in his sink, and only frowned at them. 

Shrugging it off when he heard another knock on his door. He muttered under his breath, opening up the door for the third, and hopefully, final time that day.

"Hey, Bobby," the Chinese delivery guy smiled up at the hunter.

"Hey Justin, good see'n you." Justin nodded at this, handing over the food, telling the hunter the amount, which they both knew was unnecessary, before waving his goodbye. Justin was nice, he was the only delivery boy that Bobby ever let keep the change.

Bobby set the food on his, now clear, desk, walking over to the bookshelf once again to pull out the insect encyclopedia from before. Dean was still waiting to hear from him, and distractions wouldn't cut it.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in utter silence, save for the quiet chewing and the soft flutter of pages. Bobby looked over every possible insect or virus that it could be, which was limited, before scribbling it all down, along with the page numbers, doggy-ear’ing the pages and finally putting the book aside.

He had already forgotten about the strange man that had shown up earlier, with his funny accent and clean cut attire that had looked somewhat disheveled, his mind back onto that same-old drive it was so used to being on.

It was getting late, and Bobby thought it best if he were to finally get some sleep, it'd do him some good. Pulling off his vest and placing it on the rack, he heard a soft _jingle_ that caught his attention. Pausing in his movements, Bobby listened, but when he didn't hear it again, he finished placing the vest up, only to hear the sound again.

The hunter made a face, patting down his vest until something hard in the pocket brushed against his hand.

Bobby raised a brow, reaching inside and feeling the lining of cold metal brush against his fingertips. Pulling it out, it looked like a set of keys. It took the hunter a moment to register that this was the reason he was patted earlier when the man named Crowley had left; he had slipped him his car keys.

Looked like the man had a Ford, if the print on the side of the keys was anything to go by. Bobby reached into the pocket again, to make sure that was it, but was surprised when his hand slipped against a piece of paper. Pulling it out, he examined it, seeing it was some sort of business card. The words _Purgatory Placements_ printed out neatly on the front, with a number right underneath it, the name Fergus McLeod in the center. He turned the small card over to see a message scrawled out in neat handwriting.

 _The keys are in your pocket, and the car is halfway down the road, a little less than a mile from here. Call me when you're done, or if you need anything._ -Crowley

Bobby couldn't help but chuckle to himself, grabbing his vest and slipping it back on before opening the door. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: The first few chapter's have little to almost no editing in them, and the ones there after had been combed through; everything will be brushed over once the whole fanfiction is finished, and fixed up. Bare with me here, and thank you for reading. ^^


	2. Chapter Two

An old black 70' Ford Maverick, almost as good as the 67 Chevy Impala, but not quite. The car was nice, to say the least; Shined frame, the coating was slicked and sleek, with the '2-Door Coup', the extra 2 doors having not been added until Brazil had created the Station-wagon version in 1978. The seats were furnished, the tires were in good condition, much like everything else on the vehical.

Bobby just couldn't find a single damn thing wrong with it.

The hunt to go collect the piece of machinery had been one of question. He had wondered what condition it would have been in, how destroyed and rusted, he was looking for a piece of junk, not a work of art.

Forget what Crowley said. Bobby couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen a car so well taken care of. The oil had been changed, not to mention it was a top quality brand; Engines were in functioning order, not to mention a shined up, and geared 170 CID 16 under his hood. The brakes worked just fine, reverse was set and locked, the meter's weren't damaged, gas tank contained a fair amount of gas; Hell, there wasn't even a gas leak, not even so much as a smudge on the windshield. Bobby had checked in, out, around, and within the car, and there was nothing to find.

The only issue was a bit of a dent up front from where Crowley had crashed it, but it didn't take long for him to straighten and smooth it out once again.

Bobby sat in the driver seat, the hood pulled up on the car, and the tires having been removed. The hunter sighed, running a grease covered hand over his face, smearing some of the black goo onto his face and into his beard. Pushing himself out of the car, and into his garage, he looked down at his tools, which were scattered around in no particular order. Everything was a mess, and he mentally scowled himself.

Why was everything always such a clutter, why was everything so filthy, messy, out of place? It's like nothing ever had a place to begin with, like it never belonged. Why doesn't anything belong? The hammer goes with the nails, while the screw driver goes with the screws, but then were do you place them? In a bucket? Then what? You could set the place up nice and tidy, but in the end it'll be misplaced, disorganized, a disaster.

Bobby can't remember this room ever being clean, or at least in some sort of order.

Wiping his greasy hands on the front of his pants, he turned to look at the car again. He'd never been so stumped on finding the problem. Any problem for that matter.

It's been about 5 days or so since he'd last seen Crowley, and that was when he was walking out the door, having sneakily slid his keys into the hunters pockets. Bobby hadn't even heard from him, but he supposed that was mostly because the man didn't have his number, and Bobby found it fruitless to call him without having had any progress.

It was like walking to your customers without their food, just to say hi.

Bobby looked up and checked the digital clock on the other side of the garage, hanging over his power tools. The hunter mumbled under his breath, it was too damn early in the day to be this tired. He hadn't eaten, in what felt like an eternity, his stomach protesting every other moment or chance that it got, slowing the hunter down every step of the way.

The silent grumbling was nearly deafening to his ears, feeling the vibrations in his lower abdomen, almost as if it was begging to be fed, begging for something. Bobby attempted to shrug it off, but the feeling was getting worse. Shaking his head, his eyes darted downward to look inside of the car one last time.

He wondered vaguely on whether or not the car was the one with the problems.

Groaning, Bobby grabbed the hood and slammed it back down, placing parts of the car back in place. Wheel after wheel, after wheel put back on after the tires were shifted and bolted back down. Cleaning off any smudges or grease that he had put on the outer-shell, he closed up the Maverick with a bit of a huff, grabbing a dirty rag and attempting to take off some of the grease attached over his palms.

The oily, stickiness that felt so familiar, and vaguely boarding on welcomed and unpleasant, Bobby tossed the filthy rag over on the table a meter or so away from him, pressed against the wall, as he reached for his tools. Carelessly, he snatched each one, before tossing them into their containers and shoving or kicking them off to the side to deal with later. Heavy stepping his way back inside, his heels scraping against the gravel and dirt, mixing together into an abnormal scratchy clump of a sound that reverberated and resounded as he lifted his heel once again.

Making it up his back steps, sound, phone, _balls._

Bobby cursed, running up the last few steps, and opening up his back door, not bothering to close it as he bee-lined it for the phone, snatching it up off the side table, before his thumb quickly pressed 'send' pulling the receiver to his ear.

Fifth call of the day, another false alarm, still no update on Ben's condition. Bobby sighed, but didn't put the phone down, listening for the reason of the call, before he'd decide whether or not it was worth his time or not. Either way, he always ended up doing it, regardless, he couldn't tell anyone no.

Bobby, half-listening to Ellen, was still a bit worried about how Dean handled the Virus, or if he was able to figure it out. The older man had been so worried, especially when Dean was so frantic, completely and utterly panicked, jolting down the information before quickly hanging up without even a damn decent goodbye, or even thank you. Bobby was worried, Bobby'll always be worried or concerned for those boys, it was his job, and having gone so long without an update was leaving the hunter edgy.

Bobby could hear himself speaking to her, he could hear was he was saying, and that she was responding, but he didn't know what was coming out of his mouth, he wasn't listening. He barely registered hanging up until he did so, the conversation vague on his mind, and almost barely there. He needed a drink.

Some kind of mixture, something he hadn't had in a while. Bobby stretched his arms absent-mindedly, stepping out of his 'library,' his steel toed boots thudding heavily against the once cluttered ground, reaching out and pulling the fridge open. Soft frisk of a sound, as the edges pulled apart from the metal, like it was made up of glue, and the soft illuminating light flickered to life. The hunter reached inside, pulling out a beer, letting the door slip shut as he pushed himself back into the 'library.'

Pulling off the tip, the cap gave an obscene pop before the brisk flush of white frost floated out of the opening, chilling the palm of the hunters hand, bringing the drink up to his lips.

Liquid ice washed over his tongue, and the tang of the bitter sweet sting was nothing compared to the few whiskey bottles he had stored under the sink, but he needed something cool, something refreshing, not soul stripping. There was no burn as it swam down his throat, their wouldn't be, not even a buzz. He pull the drink away, swallowing, his fingers stretching over the top, letting the small sheen of condensation run against the pads of his fingers.

There was a surging ring, loud and profound, over and over, ring ring ring. Grumbling to himself, he set the beer onto the table, the glass clanking against the wooden platform as he snatched the phone, wiping the water from his hands on the butt of his pants, pressing 'send'.

"Yeah, whaddaya want?" He grunted, turning and leaning against the table.

 _"Robert? Is this you?"_ The softly gruff accented voice reverberated through the other end, causing the older man to nearly choke. Crowley? How'd that guy get his number?

_"Blast, I swore this was the right number-"_

"No, Crowley," Bobby cleared his throat, "Yeah, it's me."

A pause, _"Ah, good. I was hoping I'd hear from you sooner, but I never got that update-"_

"I didn't have an update to give," Bobby muttered, eyes glancing at his feet momentarily before darting about, moving the arm from his side to grasp around his middle. "Couldn't find much wrong with the thing; real nice car by the way." A breath, "How'd you find my number?"

A beat, _"Wasn't that hard, looking for the only Robert Singer in South Dakota in the phone book didn't take black magic."_

Bobby would have laughed, but ended up using a small chuckle, "Yeah well, now that you mention it, I should probably get that fixed."

 _"Oh, don't be like that."_ another chuckle, _"I'll swing by later to pick it up, sevenish sound flat?"_

Bobby muddled on the wording for a moment, the slow interpretation clicked, I'll pick it up at seven. Goddamn, why couldn't he just say that? Where the hell was this guy from anyways? London? "Yeah, see you then."

 _"Tata."_ The line went dead, Bobby looked at the phone a moment, before making a slick roll of the eyes.

The day moved like a film set on rewind and time ticked off but never seemed to move. He'd gotton a few other calls after that, and then two on his own personal cell. What was a man who didn't have a job need two phones for? Well, his personal number was only given to two people, Sam and Dean, who only used that number when it was of serious import, otherwise it was the land line. Sam, unlike Dean, thought updates on the outside world were very important, knowing the old man doesn't get out much.

Two text messages.

Both from Sam.

The boy acted like Bobby had no idea how to turn on the damn TV.

His eyes shifted over to the old dusty screen off to the side, facing the couch, but covered in pages and books; it could easily have been mistaken for a table, seeing as the back juts out with a paper covering that mocks wood at it's very sight. It was a dinosaur, older than God 'emself, or at least Bobby liked to believe so, merely shrugging and looking back at the book resting in his lap. He can turn it on when ever he wants to, he just doesn't.

Maybe that's what Sam's gettin' at.

Seconds ticked to minutes, ticked to hours, tick tick tick, the snap of a minute hand that wasn't even in the house, but Bobby could still hear it mocking him. The only clock he had was his watch, and the digital in his garage, no need for time here, none what so ever. He had nothing to need a clock for, he had a internal alarm clock, wake up, go to bed. His stomach was his food alarm, and the pains in his lower half signal when it's time to use the washroom. The phone rings, Oh! Time for a job. It goes on and on, and it'll never stop.

Glancing at his watch, it was getting later, but still not time. Not time, not time, never time, time, time, never enough, or too much. Hadn't he been in this debate before? Always arguing with himself, he can never agree on anything without second guessing himself. It has a lot to do with all this time on his hands and never having anyone around. Only voices he ever hears is the static over the phone, rarely people come to see him; Why would they want to? He was only a speed-dial away.

Yeah, that's what he was. Speed dial.

He was probably called as much a 911, perhaps more. The number in the book right under it, Bobby chuckled sadly to himself. He could already imagine the text underneath _Emergency_ being _you gotta problem? This guy'll fix it._ The hunter frowned, idly dragging his his fingers over the aging pages of his book.

There was a subtle knocking at the door, Bobby turned his head in the direction of his front door when the knocking sounded again. Wait, that wasn't- Bobby cocked a brow, turning his head to face his back entry way instead, looking through the open kitchen doorway, before pushing himself from his seat, putting a doggy-ear on his page before carelessly tossing it on his desk.

Walking to the back door, he pulled it open.

"Hello, Robert."

"Crowley," Bobby greeted. The hunter had expected a quick come and go visit, like all visits, and to get back to his book, but his plans were suddenly altered when the shorter male brought forth a clear bottle with a golden liquid swimming inside; the hunter eyes it carefully, before raising a brow, eye looking upward, catching the mans devilish smirk.

"What's that for?"

"Call it payment for the car work. We never did discuss numbers."

Bobby waved off the comment, "It was a favor," The hunter mumbled, "You were in an accident, wasn't gonna force you to pay for help."

There was a thoughtful look on the business mans face for a moment, "Their are not many people who share your views."

"That's what makes them mine, I've never been one for sharin'." The comment made the shorter man grin before straightening his jacket. His hand moved over the top of the bottle, as if remembering something.

"Glencraig."

Bobby made a face, "What?"

"Glencraig," Crowley held up the bottle once again, "Although I prefer to call it Craig, some beg to differ." He smirked, "Good drink, if aged 30 years at least. I've been drinking it since grade school."

Bobby felt his lips tugging upward at this, "You're different, I'll give you that."

Crowley smirked, "Oh come now Robert, If I hadn't given off a better impression than that, might as well work in a field." Bobby snorted.

It was weird, he'd only met this guy, but it felt like he's known him for years, if by the way they were talking was anything to go by. Bobby stopped himself, he was getting too comfortable too quickly; he didn't know this guy, he'd only just met him a few days ago. They weren't best friends, or drinking buddys. The guy was in an accident, and he was just the first house he could make it to, he was just the help. He was always just the help.

He absently patted down his vest pockets; he'd hand him the keys, and he'd be out of his hair. One less person to worry about, and no more influx on his routine.

"Now," Crowley began again, "How about we see to splitting this, eh?"

Well, maybe the keys can wait just a bit longer; Stepping aside, the business man brushed by him, the heavy scent of men's cologne and a twinge of butterscotch lingered after the male. Still sporting black, like he was going to a funeral, he looked the same as before, exactly the same.

Why did he let him inside? Bobby wondered vaguely about his sudden lapse in judgement. He doesn't know this man and yet he's letting him in his house; he barely let Rufus in his house, and he'd known Rufus for years. The boys, Ellen and Jo were about it when letting people into his home. After everything, and everyone he's lost over the years, his home was all he had that never left, never changed, day in and day out, and now someone was in it.

"Coming Robert?" The deeply accented voice called from somewhere in the library, Bobby looked out of the door a moment, a split second decision.

"Yeah, I'm comin'." And with that, he grabbed the handle, closing the door with a subtle slam.


	3. Chapter Three

Deep rapid burn, bitter after taste, swig, pour, drink, rinse, repeat. It seemed glass after glass was poured, and the subtle tension of strangers switched and melted away into a warming glow of talk and friendly laughter, jokes and stories well forgotten passed between two men like an old friend long since missed. Simple talk turned to jokes, and jokes to silly stories; to talk about nothing and everything all at once.

Crowley, evidentially, came from Canisbay Scotland, who, quote un quote "-Sailed to America for better opportunities." His father having been a Tailor, Crowley didn't want anything to do with that, having decided business, selling, location-location-location was more of his forte` anyhow.

The man had expressed a little bit more on his past, but nothing too deep. Never said a word about family life other than his father; other personal information kept hidden in a box, and lock up tight. Crowley didn't bring it up, and Bobby didn't ask; just as Bobby kept his own personal life, his past, hidden in some far away book on some shelf he'll never let anyone find. Bobby didn't say anything, and Crowley never asked. Like a silent mutual agreement neither made, but was thankful to have it there. A man has to have his secrets.

The minutes ticked away to hours, and all they did was talk, and laugh. Never too serious and certainly never sad. Those were emotions for another day, another time, with another person. No, they were here to enjoy, and be enjoyed, platonically of course, the time ticking on by in a steady silent beat that nobody could hear.

"-Fergus, actually, isn't my real first name." The Scotsmen stated, reclining against the couch in Bobby's study. Bobby was sitting behind his desk, looking over the small clutter at the shorter man, who sat examining his clear glass, twirling the auburn liquid inside.

"Your card say's otherwise." Bobby muttered, setting his glass onto his desk, the glass clanking against the wooden surface.

"Well of course," Crowley looked up from his drink, to give the hunter an obvious look, "America may accept any name, but most consumers do not." He glanced down at the glass in his hands once again, "They hear something wrong, and most assume it's satanic, and bam-" Crowley snapped his fingers, his front teeth pulling at his lower lip for a split second, "-Down goes business, nobody want's to buy from a man with a name like mine," A soft shrug, "I never understood it with you American's."

"Not all of us are like that." Bobby offered.

"No, no, not all of you," The business man sighed, "Just a majority of you, too many point fingers." Raising the glass to his lips he took a sip from his glass.

"Well, if Fergus isn't your real name, then what is it?"

"I've told you, Crowley."

"How come you told me your real name then, eh?" Bobby asked, a gruff eyebrow raising on his face.

There was a pause, where the shorter male looked like he was contemplating; It was a long moment before he opened his mouth. "You know," He began, twirling the glass in his delicate pale hands, "I haven't the slightest."

Bobby gave the business man a questionable look, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Crowley stressed the words, "That I have no idea why I told you my real name," He hadn't given the hunter a look, but just continued to stare at the glass in his hands, moving his fingers over the soft pattern near the bottom, as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever laid his eyes upon. "It seemed like the right thing to do, I suppose."

There was a pause, "I don't get it then," Bobby stated, "Why would people assume that Crowley was some sort of satanic name? Wasn't there a few successful men somewhere in Europe with the name Crowley?"

"Indeed there were," The Scotsmen replied, "It also means Descendant of the hard hero, or hardy warrior. But I must say that I always prefered Wood of Crows." There was a sort of thoughtful chuckle that escaped Crowleys lips, something barely acknowledged. "Must scare these over righteous Americans with something so utterly innocent and simple as a name."

"I don't know about you, but Crowley seems pretty Satanic to me."

The Scotsmen snorted, "Oh, now you're just flirting."

Bobby made a soft yet sarcastic _mm hm_ before bringing his drink to his lips, another swig, burn of the throat, bitter after taste.

"Did you know, that the name Robert means to have the desire to understand and help others with their problems," Crowley began, his fingers swiping away at the condensation build on his glass, "but, at the same time, can become too involved and worrying as the result." Crowley stated idly, "Good natured and affectionate and enjoy home and family life. Not to mention those who have the name tend to avoid issues, however, and put off until tomorrow decisions that should be made today."

Bobby looked up at the black clad man in skepticism, eyebrows furrowing together as he spoke. For some odd reason Bobby thought of the Impala sitting in his garage, or the dishes he never bothered touching. Crowley stopped abruptly, pressing his lips together in a thin line as his eyebrows furrowed. Setting aside the glass onto the couches' side table, he pulled back his left trench-coated sleeve slightly, reveling an old watch, before dawning crossed his face.

"Bollocks," Crowley cursed, pushing himself to his feet, "Ah, well Robert. I hate to leave so soon, but duty calls." He began, turning to give the hunter a friendly look, pointedly ignoring the blunt confusion that crossed the hunters face. Neither was certain if it was for the name outburst, or the fact that he was leaving, but it didn't matter. "Thank you, once again," He paused before waving his hand from his side a moment, "For the car, I mean."

Bobby was quiet for a moment, before shaking his head when he realised that Crowley was waiting for some sort of response. "Not at all."

The shorter man smiled, or more or less smirked, before pulling his keys out of his pocket. He turned his back on the hunter and began walking out, calling a subtle goodbye before he was gone. The soft eliciting sound of a creaky wooden door opening before footsteps receited out of them with a subtle slam moments after. Bobby looked at the direction of the back door a moment longer, rough hand reaching out and grasping the rest of his drink, downing the rest before pushing to his feet.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Days went to weeks, and weeks shifted quickly to months, and suddenly the strange man from his doorstep slowly began to ebb away from Bobby's conscious mind. He couldn't get rid of the Scottish mans existence from memory, no, that would be impossible; He was just another person to walk into his life, before quickly stepping back out again. It was like everyone else, just another passing face, always another passing face before it becomes blurred and unfocused like everyone elses.

It was the fact that Crowley's face hasn't blurred _yet_ was driving the hunter absolutely crazy.

By now, a passing look, a bump in the road, a friendly hello between two strangers would have left the hunters mind by the first week, at least but Crowley's face still seemed as vivid as ever. Bobby remembered the way he laughed, and the deeply accented voice that seemed to vibrate into a delicate purr before a laugh or chuckle were to escape, even the slight pudgyness- the _roundness_ of the mans face, all these little things Bobby could remember. But why?

Well, he really couldn't expect any less. It was a very interesting time, with a very interesting person, it has to be hard to forget such an imprint, yeah? Well, that would make sense. No break in his daily routine, and suddenly there is an abnormal stop, like a sudden skip in a heart-beat, or the pause in a metronome. It takes notice, because it's out of place, it's suddenly different and make-shift in a matter of moments and yet you have no idea why or how. Why did the heart skip? Was there failure? Lack of blood pressure? Or too much? What happened exactly to cause such a reaction? Same with the metronome. Why did it pause? Was it broken? Is it breaking? Does it require attention? Or should you wait and see what happens?

Cause, effect. Something happens, something strange, and it causes a ripple effect, and branches off to many different questions that may or may not ever be answered, if there ever was an answer to begin with.

Cause; A man in an accident and came looking for help. Effect; A lapse in routine and judgement, leaving an imprint that Bobby just can't smear or blur the lines to.

Goddamn it was frustrating.

The calls still came in, as per usual, at least that was the same. The house was cleaner, but that wasn't too different from before. He still drank the same beer, still took calls, worked cases, and fixed cars, there was nothing different. Regardless, something _felt_ different. Something felt _wrong._

Bobby just couldn't place it, this deep empty feeling in his chest like something was completely and utterly _off_ , and it was driving him mad.

His routine was the same, the times he woke up and fell back into sleep never fluctuated, he seemed to be in good health. Perhaps he was just getting old; although 43 didn't seem that damn elderly, it could be a factor.

Age could always be a factor; too young to understand, too old to be wise, too middle-aged to be an idjit. But, then again, most people are anyhow, being an idjit doesn't really have that much of a age-limit, now does it?

Autumn had passed into winter, and winter into spring. The spring was finally settling into a much warmer climate as the year began to pass on, the holidays long gone, and case's were starting to come in more frequently now that the creatures were warm enough to peek out of their holes. So many damn animals everywhere, and too many damn idjits trying to get rid of 'em. If you can't kill it, then leave it alone for the professionals to take care of.

The other hunters never listen to him, and just keep calling, all too stubborn to get some real help.

Not that he wasn't real help, he just wasn't getting paid for it.

Bobby was so tired, frustrated with everyone and everything, including himself, he needed a drink but he was out, and he was so goddamn tired of eating chinese food. He had to shower, brush his teeth, use the washroom, he really needed to finish fixing up the Impala, and not forget to clean it again; Books were scattered everywhere, and papers were cluttering the ground, it was time to do dishes again, and Bobby felt like hell.

"Balls." Bobby cursed under his breath, tossing The Lovely Bones onto his desk. Sam had suggested some books from Bobby to read that weren't strictly research, and were more for entertainment; Bobby had piles of books like that, but Sam had insisted he read a book from this century. And since the hunter flat out told Sam no on 50 Shades of Gray and The Naked and The Dead, Sam had eventually quit trying to convince him to get books, and ended up at the house a week later with a satchel full of these books that look both new, but used.

He now owned the whole Harry Potter series, as well as The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, Twilight, True Blood, not to mention a few that he knew, like Fahrenheit 451, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Pet Semetary, and the like. He didn't know most of these names, nor the authors; and what the hell was Sam doing with a copy of The Earth, My Butt, and other Big Round Things.-?

Some of the novels looked like porno's waiting to happen, while others looked like you had to have serious time and patience to finish. Some looked interesting, and some didn't have much of a cover other than a black color and the title. Bobby had grabbed ahold of The Lovely Bones out of curiosity about a week after the boy had dropped them all off, (Sam having helped put them on one of hunters filled up shelves) and given it a gander.

Hasn't been able to set it down since.

Maybe reading for entertainment wasn't something too bad, but it was definitely something he didn't get enough time to do. With everything on his plate, he's only been able to read 13 chapters- It's been 3 months.

Pushing himself out of his chair, he stretched his back. Although he'd been _dying_ to push his nose into his book, he really needed to go get some food; and _not_ chinese. Bobby looked over at the cluttered mess that was his desk, and mumbled to himself.

A loud ringing caught his attention, and he found himself glaring at the phone; he was tired of calls, he just wanted to eat. Never the less, his hand swipped down and snatched the phone off of the table in a familiar motion he was far too used to, answering it.

"Bobby speakin'." He answered.

" _Hey Bobby,_ " Now wasn't that a familiar voice.

"Hey Dean," Bobby replied warmly, moving so he could walk into the kitchen, heels thudding.

" _Long time, man._ "

"No kiddin'," Bobby grunted, "How's Lisa and Ben doin'?"

" _Great, actually we were about to head up to see Sammy, you speak to him lately?_ "

Bobby made a throaty noise, "Yeah, 'bout a week ago, why? S'he in trouble?"

" _Nah,_ " a pause, " _Just haven't been able to get ahold of him, you hear about his new Job?_ "

"He got a new job?" The hunter questioned, hand wrapping around the handle of his fridge, and pulling it open, before peering inside; leftovers, leftovers, leftovers..

" _Yeah, at some place called Purgatory Placements-_ "

... _-The words 'Purgatory Placements'printed out neatly on the front, with a number printed underneath it, the name Fergus McLeod in the center. He turned the small card over to see a message scrawled out in neat handwriting._ -

" _-Name ring any bells?_ " Dean asked, and Bobby wondered briefly if he had missed anything. There was a pause, before Bobby closed the fridge with a light slam.

"A few," Bobby commented off handedly, before his hand slipped into his pocket, finger brushing against the rough edge of a small piece of paper, idly, or pointedly, tracing the cards edge with the tip of his finger. "I believe I heard it somewhere."

" _Yeah, same here. It's like I hear the name everywhere, but at the same time no one knows about it, I don't get it._ "

Bobby shrugged nonchalantly, briefly forgetting that Dean couldn't see him. "When'd he get the job?"

" _Few weeks back, I think. He was talking about it, all happy and excited. It's been a while since he's sounded happy, it's a good change, you know. After all that happened._ " Bobby pressed his lips together into a thin line.

They never talked about what happened, it was awful, and they never uttered a word about it out of respect. It's been a few years, but they both knew it was a sore and sour subject for Sam; how could it not be? Karen was a sore subject for Bobby, Mary and John Winchester were a sore subject for Dean, since Sam was too little to remember them anyway.. And then there was Jessica.

Jessica was the love of Sam's life, his other half, his missing piece that made him whole, Jessica was everything to him. One day out of college, while him and Dean were out, there had been a fire and she didn't make it out alive. Bobby tried to sympathise with him, but it was too hard to compare Karen to anybody, even for comfort reasons, so he settled with empathy; still, Sam was a wreck.

Him and Dean did everything they could for him, they tried everything they could to get him out of this shell he crawled into. They were too late to try anything else once he met Ruby.

Bobby grimaced, Ruby was a sore subject for everyone. A hard-core deep woman with a careless attitude had waltzed into Sam's life, and for a moment, Bobby and Dean had thought that it was a good thing, that he was getting out of his shell and finally pulling through. On the contrary, Ruby had made everything worse.

Bobby shook his head, he wasn't going to think too deeply on it. "Well that's definitely somethin'." Bobby replied, crossing an arm over his abdomen and holding his side.

There was a soft chuckle on the other end, " _Yeah, it's good to hear that he's not zoned out in La La Land where he's been for a while._ "

"No kiddin'," The hunter murmured, "What about you Dean?"

" _What do you mean?_ "

"You okay?" The elder man asked, "You know, after that virus scare, you hadn't really talked much."

" _Nah, I'm fine. You know me, always pulling through._ "

"You damn Winchester's," Bobby chuckled, "Well, if you ever need to talk-"

" _Bobby,_ " Deans voice halted his train of thought, " _We are not having another Chick-Flick moment, I'm fine! Really, if I've got something I need to tell you, I will._ "

"Ya' lyin' idjit."

There was a sharp chuckle on the other end, causing the side of Bobby's mouth to twitch upward, just the slightest. " _I hear ya' Bobby,_ " a pause, " _I'll call you back with any updates on 'em, alright? Alright, I'll talk to you later._ "

"Whatever," He rolled his eyes, straightening his back, "Bye."

" _See ya' Bobby._ " The hunter pulled the phone away when the line went dead, thumb pressing over 'end' just in case, before setting it off to the side, eyes glancing over at the fridge a moment, before hearing his stomach growled violently at him.

He really needed to stop putting these things off. Pushing off of the table, he ran his rough hands over his face. Better now than never.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, we're going to move a bit with more Character development, and throw some Dean Winchester in here. ^^ I hope you enjoy.

Removing the cell phone from his ears, the repairman sighed, shoving the device into his pocket. The man ran a rough oiled hand over his face, the grease leaving smudges over his cheekbones, before moving to lay on his back once again, scooting himself under the elevated car.

Dean Winchester, professional car repairmen, working under _Morningstar Repairs_ to his boss Lucifer, although most called him by Luci, or Luc, some even refer to him by his middle name Nick; Regardless, he responds to all of them. He made a living out of fixing up and repairing vehicles, although he's been known to help out with household maintenance, as well as knows a thing or two about pest control. He was a multitalented character, content with his apple pie life, and white picket-fenced family.

Having worked long days, and sometimes, if need be, nights, people on both shifts knew him to be an honest straight forward man; who wanted to make his living, but get a bit of enjoyment out of it to. If the enjoyment comes, then great! If not, then he'll bite through it, because he needed the money, and family always came first.

Although Dean didn't talk to most of the guys he worked with, except for the casual ' _hey, what's goin' on?_ ' or ' _you missed a spot,_ ' or even ' _here let me help you_ '. Regardless, he got the job done, and was usually finished on his work way after everyone else had gone home. He believed that each car deserved more than 'up to par' treatment, and should be in absolutely perfect condition before giving the vehicle back to its owners.

Not a single car he's worked on had come back, needless to say.

The aspect was something to be proud of, but Dean wasn't was proud man. He took what he could, and kept his nose clean. Don't get him wrong, he was a smug bastard, but he did it in such a way that people could tolerate it with a smile on their face.

Dean tightened a few loose bolts, and got rid of some excess grease build up on the side of the engine; he pushed himself out from under, before pushing himself to his feet.

"Hey! Hey Dean!" Came the slightly high pitched call, the repairmen winced, rolling his eyes before turning to the sound of thudded running steps.

"Hey Garth," Dean greeted, tilting his head at the lanky man who grinned up at him.

"Hey, haven't got a chance to ask you," Garth began smiling broadly at the taller male, "Are you gonna be busy anytime next week?"

Dean paused, contemplating, he didn't know whether or not to answer truthfully, settling on, "Maybe, I don't know, why?" Well, it wasn't a complete lie, just a maneuver to one.

"Me and some of the guys are goin' clubbin' next Tuesday, and were were wonderin' if you wanted to tag along." Garth asked, shifting on his feet to get a comfortable standing position. Dean chewed the inside of his lip, giving a small shrug before answering.

"If I'm not busy, I don't see why not."And if he decided not to go, he could always pull the ' _I promised Lisa I'd...-_ ' card, and he'd be home free. Garth nodded, patting a boney hand on the repairman's arm.

"Alright man, hey can you cover for me? I have a customer out front in need of an oil change and some replacements, and Lucifer had called me to his office." Garth said, raising an almost pleading eyebrow, he knew he could guilt anybody into doing his bidding with his childish puppy-dog face, and Dean was no exception.

Dean sighed but nodded, "Yeah, alright," He pointed a stern finger at Garth, "But I'm not _doing_ this again, alright?"

Garth smiled, "Yeah, yeah. Can do, thanks Dean." He turned to walk away, the older repairs-men patted his shoulder.

"Yeah no problem." Garth waved goodbye before stalking off down to _'Lucifers cage'_ , as the Employee's put it, adjusting his uniformed jacket on his shoulders as he went.

Dean gave a tired sigh, placing the tools away and grabbing his rag, wiping his hands off as best as he could muster before heading to the front of the large car garage, muttering a few ' _hello's_ ' and ' _how are you doin'?_ ' as he went.

A women, and three men were standing up front, who stood around quietly for the most part, the cool summer breeze brushing into the open doorway, letting out the steam build up of the workers; Dean did a once over, before heading behind the main desk up front, checking to see Garth's appointments, and read through the list for Thursday, checking the time to make sure it was right. He turned to look at the group.

"Who came here to see Garth?" Dean yelled, making sure his voice could be heard of the power-drills, and saw blades. A man's head turned in his direction, and stood up.

"That would be me," He said in a deep, but small voice, stepping up to the counter with some paperwork in hand. "I was afraid that my appointment never got in."

Dean smiled at the man, who looked downright out-of-place here. He was a small, thin innocent looking little man, whose tan trench coat stood out like a sore thumb with a group of rebellious looking working class men and women surrounding him. "Nope, not at all," He stepped out from the counter, "If you'll come right this way." Dean lead the man outside of the garage, and into the parking lot, asking the man which car belong to him.

The trench coated man made quick work of stepping around Dean, quick steps up to his vehicle from across the lot. Dean stepped out to get a better look, watching as the trench coat swung from around the mans legs swishing with every haist move he made. Dean blinked, looking up at the mans shoulders as he stepped up to a silver 2004 Honda Sonata.

"This is it," The man called over his shoulder, turning his neck slightly to get a better view of the repairmen. Dean moved, walking up to the man and the car, hand brushing up against the side, feeling the cold metal against his knuckles. The dark haired man looked away from the repairmen, turning to look inside of his passenger seat window. "I've been having a lot of trouble with the breaks, it sounds like something is loose. Whenever I try to turn the car when I'm driving, it sounds like a chain.. er, _something_ , may have gotten loose." The man raised his eyebrows, before facing the taller man. "It's nerve wrecking to drive. I'm terrified something's going to snap and I'll lose control of the steering."

Dean glanced at the man before moving to the front of the car, "Hey, mind popping the hood?"

The dark haired man nodded, pulling open the side door before slipping inside. There was a distinct ' _click_ ' that sounded off before the hood lifted about a quarter-inch. Dean placed the tips of his fingers under before quickly lifting it up, grabbing the staff and sliding it over in order to keep the hood propped. The trench coated man slipped out from inside of the car.

"Garth I-"

"Name's not Garth," Dean interrupted, running a hand along the top of the engine, a residue, thick and dark, came off. "Garth had something else he had to do, he sent me to do this job for 'em." He looked up from the greasy mess, and locked eyes with the business man. "The names Dean," He wiped the grease onto the front of his jeans before holding out his hand, "It's nice to meet you..-"

"Castiel," The man replied, looking at the hand curiously for a moment before grasping it in a polite handshake, "It's good to meet you too."

"Castiel?" Dean let the name fall off his tongue, testing it out. He gave the trench coated man a disbelieving look. "What kind of name is Castiel?"

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows, abruptly taking his hand back. "It's mine."

"No shit," Dean looked from Castiel to the inside of the car, "But _where's_ it from? India or something?"

"It's biblical," The shorter man shifted on his feet, shooting the taller man a near dirty look. "My father was a very religious man-"

"Uh huh, that's nice." Dean cut him off, leaning into the car, "Now tell me Cas-"

"Don't call me Cas."

"-When did these problems," Dean wiped some more grease off of the engine, feeling over the insides and getting an idea as to where everything was, "start? Have they been giving you trouble for a while?"

Castiel was silent a moment, "Yes, about a few years, but only recently did they begin getting worse."

"Worse?" The repairmen straightened his back, grabbing the rag from his pocket to wipe off some of the excess oil from his hands, running the cloth over each finger. "What do you mean worse?"

"Sometimes my car won't turn on. Sometimes when it does decide to turn on, then the brakes have a fit, and if it isn't the breaks, it's the power." He crossed his arms over his chest; Dean wasn't sure if it was because of the cold, or out of annoyance, but decided not to dwell on it.

"It's giving me more trouble than it's worth, but I can't get rid of it."

"Why's that?"

Castiel gave him a look, something akin to a surprised glare. "Isn't it obvious? Car's cost so much now, and the stock market had almost completely collapsed. Don't you ever watch the news?" Castiel squinted his eyes at the man, "Read a newspaper?"

"I'm more of a movie guy myself."

"Well, movie guy," Castiel began, shifting a bit uncomfortably on his feet, turning to look around the lot, "Can you or can you not, fix it?"

"Of course I can fix it," Dean grabbed the top of the hood, unlatching it and slamming it down. "Everything looks like it's in good order, a bit of cleaning should fix some of your problems, maybe an oil change.." Dean shoved the rag back into his pocket. "I'm not sure, but by the sound of it, you may have unhooked something in your brakes," Dean moved around the car, "I can't know for sure unless I've checked."

"How long do you think this'll take?" Castiel questioned, pulling the keys out from his pocket, and tossing them over to the repairmen, who caught them nearly effortlessly.

Dean shook his head, "Could be a few days, or a few weeks." Opening up the driver's door. "Do you have a replacement car?"

Castiel shook his head, "My brother will be driving me from place to place."

"Good for you, sport." Dean uttered sarcastically, sliding into the driver seat. "Step back," He called to the dark haired man as he pushed the key into the ignition. He fumbled with the keys a moment, turning them and trying to get some sort of reaction out of the vehicle, but it merely sputtered.

Muttering encouragements and curses under his breath, the original sputter at one point reverberated throughout the vehicle, Dean set it into reverse as he maneuvered the car into the garage. Castiel followed behind on foot, being led into the building once again.

Dean shifted the car in gear, rolling the car onto a slightly elevated platform, an empty workplace. Dean worked on setting the car properly into the cut-off section, before finally killing the engine. Pushing open the door roughly, swinging it out, he stepped back outside before slamming the door shut. Castiel stepped out from behind glancing at his car momentarily before his eyes shifted, gliding around the room.

"I heard the rattling you were talking about," Dean started, reaching inside of the rolled down window and pulling out the keys from the ignition. "Sounded like the barrings were worn."

"I do not understand-"

"The barrings," Dean waved his hand in dismissal, "It sounds as if they've been worn, and that dirt had gotten into it where the rubber had worn down. Causing the noise," Dean ran a hand over the slight stubble of his jaw-line. "It seemed like the Front Axle was worn, or torn or the like- Somethings definitely off with the breaks, sounded like something may have snapped, but I can't be sure unless I check under this bad boy." Dean patted his hand on top of the car, skin slapping kindly against metal before dropping his arms to his hips.

Castiel gave the man a curious look, "Can it be fixed?"

"Anything can be fixed when broken." Dean looked over at the dark haired man, "You just have to try hard enough."

Crossing his arms in contemplation and understanding, Castiel took a step back. "Mr-"

Dean waved a hand, "No, just- just call me Dean."

"I don't even know your last name."

Dean shook his head, "It's not important," An encouraging smile etched around his lips as his hand rest against the top of the car. "What is important is fixin' this baby up." He patted his hand on the top twice, leaning back and looking over the vehicle as Garth stepped into view. "Hey Garth!" Dean called, catching the scrawny mans attention.

The slender man looked up from what files he was holding to catch eye of Dean, a large smile plastering itself on his lips. Quickening his pace, he nearly jogged over to the older man. "Hey Dean, got the loops?"

Dean nodded, before gesturing to the trench coated man beside him. "Garth, this is Cas'- and Cas, this is Garth."

Garth maneuvered the files into one arm, before reaching out a polite hand, giving the costumer a kind smile. "Hello Cas', nice to meet you."

Castiel reached out his own hand, returning the gesture. "Same." Their hands dropped, before they both looked expectantly at Dean.

"Garth, I'm gonna need you to order some new parts. I don't think Satan has replacements for barrings." Garth chuckled, shaking his head.

"It's like he doesn't want us to finish the job." Dean chuckled at this patting a friendly arm on Garth's shoulder, "Yeah, I'll order it for you."

"Thank's man." Garth tilted his head towards the guys, stepping off.

"No problem."

Castiel looked between the men before adjusting his trench coat, shifting the tan clothing on his shoulders. He looked at Dean before his eyes dropped down to his wrist, pulling his arm upward and pushing down the woven sleeve up his arm, eyes catching sight of his watch. Dean watched as the man notable flinched before quickly pushing down his sleeve again, hastily readjusting his trench.

"I must be going," He began, causing the taller man to look at him, "I happen to be late for a meeting-"

Dean held up a hand, "You don't need to explain to me," He nodded towards the opening of the car garage, "You head on off and I'll take care of your baby."

"Thank you." Castiel stated quickly, giving the man a brief smile. He turned quickly, nearly running out of the garage and the last Dean see's is a flash of tan before the man turns the corner and is out of sight.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soft delicate hands ran over worn and tired shoulders, thumbs pressing into shoulder blades, moving in stiff yet blissfully rough motions. Hot breath ran over the mans neck before a soft delicate kiss made contact with flesh, and Dean couldn't hold back that pleasantly content smile play over his lips.

Lisa looked over from behind his, leaning over his shoulder and placing a peck on his cheek. "How was your day?"

Dean hummed his response, and his wife gave a friendly scoff before wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing her smaller frame against his back. "That bad?"

"Could be better." Lisa chuckled at him, releasing her arms and turning him to face her. She smiled up at the man, seeing all of the oil smudges spread over his cheeks and forehead, the grease clinging to his stubble, and Lisa made a distasteful noise. She spread out her hands on the top of his chest, fingers brushing over his clothed collar-bone. "Take a shower."

Dean rolled his eyes, before smiling at her, the gesture reaching his eyes and crinkling the skin around his bright green orbs. Lisa didn't share the same light he did, and placed a chaste kiss on his lips before shoving him in the direction of the wash room.

"Alright, alright," Dean chuckled, "I'm goin', I'm goin'."

"You better," Lisa replied, a lift in her voice, "I'll grab you some fresh cloths when you get out."

Dean nodded his response, running up the stairs nearly running into Ben on his way. A surprised ' _Whoa_ escaped the mans lips as he was able to catch himself last second. "Hey buddy."

"Hey Dean," Ben looked up to the man, "What're you doing back so early?"

"Orders are coming in," Dean crossed his arms, "You finish your homework?" Ben paused before nodding, gesturing to the materials he was carrying.

"Persuasion Essay," Ben muttered, "Can't stand Mr. Maybury."

"He can't stand you either," Dean patted the boy's shoulder, who snorted in reply. "Go on kiddo."

Ben merely nodded, stepping past the taller man and advanced down the stairs. The repairmen looked after him, his eyes shifting before taking the view down the hall at the other end. Dean walked down to the washroom, the floorboards creaking under his weight before finally reaching the door at the far end of the hall. He gripped at the doorknob, feeling the cold under his hand before turning and pushing it open. He was welcomed into a dark room, his hand reaching out to the wall before feeling the switch a bit further off from his hands.

He flicked the room to life, the yellow light slowly growing brighter. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Dean clasped his hands in front of him, looking over to the shower and began stripping of his uniform. Unbuttoning the top of his tuck-in, he shrugged the filthy over-jacket off of his shoulders, it falling to the ground with a soft  
' _clump_ '. Piece by piece the clothing came into contact with the cool tiled floor, and Dean felt somewhat lighter.

Reaching behind the white curtain, he turned the knobs to set the water, placing his hands underneath the spray as he felt the temperature change under his fingertips. Stepping inside, he felt the heat wash over him, and he could feel the stress his job put on his muscles relax. Mentally and physically and the contact was wonderful.

Scrubbing his hair clean of all the dirt from before, and watching as the water ran dark after it made contact with his skin, the filth running down the drain. The soup had turned into a darker shade, washing it out and going through the tuffs of hair once again; his body having the same effect.

This was normal, an everyday routine. Shampoo twice, body-wash twice, sometimes three times if he felt like the grease was really clinging to him. It was normal, it was average, and it was nice. It was really nice to be able to come home to a wife and step-child who waited for him, it was nice to be able to shower and to have a decent meal. It was nice to feel like he was apart of a family, apart of a whole, once again.

After he had left Bobby's when he turned 18, he hadn't expected the world to crash around him like that. And Dean being as hard headed as he was, and stubborn, refused help from anybody. He could _do this_ he would tell himself, but after a while, he wasn't sure anymore.

Then, in came Lisa. A girl he had met in high school, they had dated for a while back in Senior year, but ended up transferring school when Sammy was having trouble with some kids. Bobby hadn't thought it a big deal, and who was Dean to complain? Sam deserved to be safe, and when some sketchy kids started picking on him, it was the smarter move to just leave and save from any risks happening. Sam was a fighter, don't get him wrong, but he was the last real family Dean had left, and he wouldn't risk his brothers safety for the world.

Lisa had helped him, shaped him, and brought out the best in Dean. She was able to snatch him a Job, and help work out his problems. She had a kid with her, Ben, who was 6 at the time. Dean had instantly thought that he was his, because, come on. They were high schoolers.

Incidentally, this wasn't the case. Ben's real father had split the moment he found out Lisa had a child, and hadn't really been heard from sense.

Not like Dean was complaining.

Everything had gone uphill after that; he'd gotten that dream job he'd always wanted, he had a family, and he was doing good. That's all he could ever ask for. A simple apple pie life that him and Sam would talk about growing up; no more heart ache about the death of his parents, no more worrying for Bobby to come home with that nights food, no more visits from the sheriff who instantly pointed fingers when something was amiss. Just no more.

Life was simple, clean, cut, and apple pie. Dean was happy, what more could he ever possibly ask for?

The spray ran over his clean skin, before a cold hand made contact with his back. Dean flinched at the touch, turning his body to see a bare Lisa right behind him; Dean hadn't heard her entering.

A soft kiss placed itself on his shoulder as thin small arms wrapped around his abdomen.

No, Dean couldn't ask for more than he already had. And what he already had, was all he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Dean/Lisa over here, no worries, I promised you Destiel, and that's what you're going to get, but not so fast. ^^ I hope you enjoyed, than you for reading.


	5. Chapter Five

Leaves crunching under steel-toed feet, step after step as the leafs crackled and blew away. Twigs snapping quietly, as the soft autumn wind blew against them, rustling the tall branches of the trees and letting some golden leaves break off and drift to earth. Soft grey clouds hugged the sky like a welcoming blanket, covering it fully and completely and leaving a near melancholy shadow cast over the land and shadowing over the trees. It gave nature that desired effect, that calm before the storm.

Bobby fingered at the riffle in his hands, holding the weapon carefully but ready in his grasp. Dressed up in his plaid button up, old tattered vest hanging over his shoulders with his scuffed up baseball cap on his scalp, matting down his hair; Worn out blue-jeans with paint stains dancing around the knees, along with grease and dirt stains that just never washed out. Bobby made his way through the thick forest that surrounded the back-end of his Salvage yard, having noticed a deer trail around some of the more rusted vans near the back.

He was searching for a good replacement part for Dean, apparently the boy's got a new job, but the parts he was looking for just wasn't sold anywhere. Bobby seemed to remember having a similar car somewhere, and tried looking for it, before the deer tracks had caught his attention.

It's been a while since he'd in on a real hunt, and not looking up some useless information for an idjit who could barely even tie his own shoes. It was nice feeling the breeze brush through the cap, touching his skin, for once. It was even better hearing the soft sounds of the animals, the chirp of a bird far off and over in the trees, with the rustling of squirrels and raccoon's here and there; the smell of the dying dried and wet leaves as it mixed in with the grass and dirt, and even the chill that stuck to the hunters skin, that told him it may rain soon.

But, what Bobby felt had to have been the best part, was the thrill of the hunt.

The tracking of the feet and listening to his surroundings; to become apart of the natural setting again and allow it to guide him with the sounds and smells, leading him along. He had almost forgotten how easy it was to just wander in the right direction, to flow through tree's and almost dance his way past the wind. It was so easy to get lost here, but even easier to get lost in himself, in thought, in silence.

Hunting, for some, was a Job. It was what kept the food on the table for some family's, it was a technique, a skill, which could be as easily used as it was abused. But not for Bobby, no. Hunting was a lifestyle, and one he took serious pride upon. Some people took this skill for granted, some forgot what the true meaning to hunt was about; it wasn't for enjoyment, it was for the experience.

There was a soft snap off to Bobbys left, West-North from where he was standing. Most wouldn't have caught the sound, but Bobby was looking for it. The hunter reared his way in that general direction, hearing more little snaps and crunches on his way. Some happened close together, while others were far too few and in between. Bobby dragged his eyes over the trees a bit, trying to see past them but so far no sight of that damn deer.

The hunter was still a moment, listening, everything seemed dead silent for the most part, a creek here and the leaves rustling there, and then _snap_ it was there. Nearby is nearly seemed; Bobby made his way through the tall grasses and overgrown weeds, stepping over large fallen branches and trying to keep his breathing at a slow and relaxed level. He wasn't the only thing out there searching.

After ducking under a fairly low branch, Bobby's ears perked at a particularly loud snap near by. He pulled himself so he was standing straight up, his head turned in that general direction. There was a flash of a tanish orange and Bobby was nearly certain that-that was it. Bobby shifted the riffle in his hands, creating a firmer grip as he maneuvered himself carefully closer to the slightly open baring of tree's. He settled himself closer to the ground, hearing the soft thudding footsteps as they got closer to his general direction.

The deer finally showed its graceful head from behind one of the many trees, about a few yards away. Bobby elevated his riffle, holding it a bit higher on his torso as he made to aim. The deer looked young, for the most part, perhaps not even 2 years old as of yet. The soft looking fur coat looked somewhat damp, the ends glistening softly, if not dully, against the dim lighting outside. The clouds portraying a greyish atmosphere, making the bright colors of the deer seem so out of place.

Bobby watched her a moment, as her long neck turned, the doe peering around before moving a few steps forward, the head dipping down as she brushed her gentle nose against some pale green shards of grass. The plant running over the bottom of her jaw before she began eating, pulling the grass from the grounds and chewing.

Softly setting his gun, snapping off the safety. The soft click made the doe pause a moment, her ears twitching; she was still. Bobby held his breath as the doe's ears darted around, before finally settling once again. A soft exhale, and Bobby relaxed his shoulders, his finger brushing against the trigger softly.

A loud buzzing set off, causing both the hunter and the doe to jump. Bobbys heart was erratic before realizing a moment too late that it was his cell phone going off, swearing as the doe quickly pounced off.

"Balls!" Bobby growled under his breath, watching as the flash of orange disappeared out of sight as his hand roughly reached into his pocket pulling out his vibrating phone. The hunter reluctantly stood up from his slouched position, flicking his riffle back on safety before setting it up against a nearby tree, flipping his phone open to see who was calling him.

A sigh rolled passed his lips as he pressed 'send' bringing the phone to his ear. "Yes Sam?"

" _Hey Bobby, hope I'm not interrupting anything._ " Came the kindish soft response.

Bobby rolled his eyes it almost hurt, "What would give you that idea?" The hunter glanced at where the doe had run off to, before snatching his riffle again and setting off back to the house.

" _I don't know, just kinda the tone you used..-_ " Sam coughed before clearing his throat, " _-Uh, anyways. Never mind. Just lookin' for an update._ "

 

"Damn it Sam, don't you ever get bored of this?" Bobby half-demanded, "I'm 40-somethin' years old, I can take mighty care of myself without you idjits worrin' about me." The hunter slung the riffle over his shoulder, stepping past some fallen branches.

" _Yeah, right._ " Sam sarcastically replied, " _When's the last time you ate?_ "

"This morning." Bobby grunted, maneuvering over a small fallen tree. The heel of his shoe skidding over the dying bark, but caught his footing, landing on the opposite side.

" _Yeah was it take out?_ " Bobby chuckled.

"Left-overs."

" _Of Take-out._ " The hunter glared into the phone.

"What's your point?"

" _Bobby! This is my point!_ " Came the exasperated reply, " _This isn't healthy! When's the last time you even had a home-cooked meal? Huh?_ " Bobby didn't answer, a scoff coming from the other end. " _My point exactly._ "

"Sam, I don't need you motherin' over me. I can take care of myself." Bobby stated, shifting the phone to his other ear as he stepped through tall grasses and weeds, making it into a large clearing just before the woods descend into the Salvage Yard.

" _Just- just do me a favor, Bobby._ " Sam sighed into the phone, " _Leave the house today, go to the store and buy some vegetables and water. Go home, take a nap, and unplug your damn house phone._ "

"Quit tellin' me what to do," Bobby growled, but there was no venom behind his words, only annoyance. Sam made a defiant noise that the receiver only barely caught.

" _Just do it, it'll do you some good. Read one of those books I got you._ "

"Like you're Ray Bradbury? Guy's a psycho."

" _A psycho who takes better care of himself than you._ " Sam chuckled over the phone, " _Come on Bobby, once a week. Just go out and do something, get normal food, meet a girl, start a new family._ " There was a pause, " _I just don't like that you're alone up there all the time._ "

A sad smile drew itself over Bobby's face, Karen came to mind but the old hunter shook his head. "I know, I know." He said after a while, looking up as he began making his way to his house, following the old trail he made in the cars. "Fine," He sighed, "I'll go out tonight."

" _Thank you,_ " Bobby could hear the relief in the young Winchesters voice, " _I'll call you back up tomorrow and I want a full update. Got it?_ "

Bobby rolled his eyes, but kindheartedly, giving a small smile he knew the other couldn't see. "Alright, talk to you then."

" _Bye Bobby._ "

"Bye." Bobby flicked his phone off just as he reached his back door. Tossing his weapon against the wall near the doorway as he entered, the rifle thumping against the wall. Bobby slid the phone into his front vest pocket before walking up to his refrigerator, pulling it open with a particularly rough jerk. The light flicked on and Bobby groaned, he really didn't want to run off to the store.

Bobby chewed the inside of his cheek as he closed the door to its disappointing contents. Blowing air through his nose, the hunter stepped inside of his library, reaching his desk and snatching his keys, sliding them inside his pocket before reaching inside of a drawer and grabbing his wallet. Opening it slightly, he peered inside, a few 20 dollar bills, a couple 1's and a 5. He had more than enough for a decent meal, if what you bought at the store could be called decent.

Bobby turned his body to look passed his kitchen doorway to get a better idea of what his dishes looked like. The burly man shrugged, it wasn't as bad as it could be. Without a second thought he slipped his wallet into his pocket and took the front door out of the house, locking the door before slamming the screen door shut. Snatching his keys as the cool air brushed by him once again, he shoved his key into his old truck and unlocked the driver door, before climbing up and slipping inside.

The drive to the nearest market took longer than it should have, but seemed to slip by quicker than normal. There weren't a lot of drivers on the road today, which was normal considering that he lived in a near remote area that has more trees than people.

Bobby ran his thumb gingerly along the steering wheel, before rearing his arms and turning a sharp corner. He passed the library on his way, and for some strange reason his eyes lingered on the building longer than what was absolutely necessary if needed at all. There was a single car in the lot, a car he found oddly familiar but couldn't seem to put his finger on it. Bobby shook his head, before steering his eyes away from the building to pay attention to the road in front of him.

The market was a few miles off, no more than 10, but not less than 5. It felt a bit eerie to be driving on a damn near abandoned road, with those dank clouds up ahead, he felt uneasy. The roads were oddly quiet and the wind was a bit too soft for his liking, something seemed wrong, out of place. That uneasiness settled into his gut but Bobby pushed to ignore it, there was no reason to be feeling like this.

The road sounded gravely under the tires, and Bobby could hear himself driving, more so than actually doing it. The car radio had been stolen a while back, so trying to listen to something was futile, forcing the hunter to linger in his seat in silence.

The hunter puckered his lips slightly and began whistling an old tune, to try and rush out the defting silence, feeling deeply awkward in his own truck. Bobby liked the silence, don't get him wrong, it's just _driving_ in silence was what got him.

It felt wrong somehow, as if letting his mind wander in nothingness was some sort of option here. He felt the need to talk, but anyone driving by would see his lips moving and nobody in the car with him- nobody needed to add ' _batshit crazy_ ' to their list of things wrong with him. Bobby know's the town has some damn vendetta against him, and it's best to keep rumors to a minimum.

Bobby turned another sharp corner, his eyes shifting to check both lanes before continuing down the road. What sounded good? Food, obviously. But what kind? Not chinese- He wouldn't know how to begin with that even if he did want it. He's tired of Cheeseburgers and fries, so that's off the list.

What about Pasta? Um, no. Bobby hadn't eaten real pasta since Karen and he's not starting now. A puff of air brushed past the hunters lips, quirking in a sad smile. He wouldn't even know how to _begin_ with what the woman created.

Besides, Bobby hates spaghetti. Lisa was the only one Bobby knew who even made that garbage, and he would only shove it down his throat out of politeness. The noodles were always too hard or too soft, the sauce either too watery or thick. The meat was either burnt or still cold, and it was worse with any combination of the three. Lisa was a good woman, but she couldn't cook worth shit.

Besides, it always left this strange mossy aftertaste that no amount of whiskey could wash out.

So, no pasta.

Bobby raised one hand to readjust the ball-cap on his head, pulling back a few loose strands of hair, tucking it underneath the hat. He really needed a hair cut, it was getting a bit too long for his liking. In about a month or so he may even be able to make small braids here and there.

Wouldn't that be a sight.

Bobby mused over the idea of having pig-tails in his hair, the idea being so utterly ridiculous he wondered how it had ever really occurred to him in the first place. He didn't think he had any barrettes at home, at least none that he remembers. Maybe Karen still had some in that old Jewelry box of hers..

Bobby's eyebrows snapped upwards; where the hell was he going with that?

The hunter coughed awkwardly, shifting in his seat. Road. Pay attention to the road. He watched a few street signs as he passed them, before taking another sharp corner, leading onto a bit busier road. Not many cars, mind you, but certainly not abandoned.

Bobby made the rest of the way to the market with complete ease, shifting every now and again, somewhat internally embarrassed with his thought process for a bit. The market he pulled up to didn't exactly have a high trusting name, but it was the closest store within miles of his home, and he'd much rather not waste the gas. Parking, Bobby strolled inside, taking a cart that was lazily pushed to the side, on his way in.

The cart made an unpleasant squeaking sound that made the hunter wonder the last time the damn thing was oiled. Having been left out in the rain didn't do it any wonders. There store had plenty of customers here and there, some chatting away idly but most keeping to themselves. Bobby walked past the protein aisle, eyeing the produce to his sides.

There was a lot of junk food here, there's no way in hell someone had the time to make all these different flavors and brands for something as insipid as protein bars. Bobby grabbed one, fingering the package in his hands, he made a face. Sam actually eats this stuff? Frowning, he shrugged before tossing the bar into his cart, grabbing a few more on his way. Don't knock it till you try it.

The burly man scanned through the rest of the aisle before wondering over to the next. Bread, Bagels, Hostess and cookies. Bobby looked at the treats but shook his head, he was going to eat healthy. Shouldn't be that hard.

Aisle after aisle, Tea, Coffee, Hot Chocolate, Energy Drinks, Pasta's, ingredients here and there, Sugar, Brown Sugar, Marshmallows, and Bobby hadn't grabbed a single thing. After his forth or fifth aisle, he contemplated whether to go back to the others; there were some things he could have used. Only problem was that he wasn't sure how to. He wasn't much of a cook, he was good with the simple things, like sticking a pre-made pizza in the oven, or make a cup of coffee; but that was what his knowledge was limited to.

The store had been redone since the last time he was here, it seemed larger with more variety and the hunter silently wondered the last time he had really strolled around. There was more people, more food, and now it seemed to have more employers. It was a simple market, but little changes like this didn't go unnoticed.

The hunter scratched at the side of his cheek, fingers scraping over his jawline before gazing at the food products by his left. Nothing stuck out to him, no matter how nicely and colorfully wrapped half this garbage was, it still didn't look edible. At least no person with any common sense would eat that junk. Bobby reached out to grab one of the cans, scanning the label before making a face, placing it back on the shelf.

Bobby sighed, wheeling his cart back over to grab some bread. He ended up eventually going into the frozen/refrigerated section and grabbing the basics. Milk, Eggs, butter, water, and cheese, having also grabbed another six-pack of beer. He peered into his cart, he could make a decent breakfast, but nothing for dinner.

Bobby still had no goddamn idea of what he wanted.

He paused in the middle of the section, mulling over his options. Making it wouldn't be so bad as long as he knew what he wanted. Burgers didn't sound that bad, now that he thought about it, it would be less greasy if he made it, and therefore healthier. The thought seemed logical enough, and like that the hunter was off.

The meat section had always been his favorite, always had so much variety. He passed a middle-aged woman who smiled politely at him in passing, and who was he to not return the gesture?

He set his cart off to the side, up against the metal barrings and walked along the side. He eyed the steaks a moment, before grabbing a few; it's been a good while since he's had food like this in his house, outside of a barbe-que of course.

If a few packages of beef made its way into his hands, well, no one was the wiser. Bobby checked the dates, taking a final once-over before quickly, unthinking, turning back to his cart.

His upper arm slammed into someone, their contents spilling all over the ground. Bobby felt his body tense up as he heard the contents crash to the ground, flinching before hastily dropping to his knees to help pick up what had been thrown. He uttered a quick apology as he grabbed the contents, silently relieved that nothing was glass. He grabbed the meat packets and the tea bags, before hoisting himself onto one knee, setting his own contents to the side as he snatched the bag filled with what he believed to be flour before standing upright, never looking the person in the face as he handed back the stuff. He kept his eyes level with the ground as he leaned back downward to grab his own products.

"I am so sorry, I didn't see you standing there, I didn't mean to-"

"Don't worry, you looked like you were in _la la_ land anyhow." The voice made the hunters ears twitch, causing him to pause in his movements, before his eyebrows furrowed together. The hunter, still on one knee with some of his packed steaks still on the floor, he slowly tilted his head to the side, looking up at the man whom, in retrospect, smirked down at him.

The food that had been dropped was under the mans arms, whose hands were shoved delicately into his pockets, an amused glint to his eyes. "What? Surprised to see me?" The man mused.

"Crowley?" Bobby grabbed his meat before standing upright once again, the business man once again was near eye level, a few inches shorter than the hunter.

"Hello Robert."


	6. Chapter Six

The hunter shuffled to adjust the merchandise in his arms before maneuvering around the other man. Crowley followed him with an amused glint in his eyes; watching as the hunter moved to his cart, who placed the meat neatly inside. Bobby wasn't sure what to say, so settled with not saying anything. However; Crowley wasn't going to have any of that silent-treatment nonsense, setting up against the mans cart, smirking at him.

"What?" He chuckled, "No hello to your favourite stranger?"

"Not my style," Bobby replied evenly, looking over at the meat once again, his hands placed firmly on his cart as to not lose sight of it again. Crowley shrugged nonchalant and stood by his side.

"Never saw you as a person to ignore friendly conversation," Crowley commented, looking into the meat as well before picking up a specific package of steak, "However, I never really saw you as a person who really speaks much either." He set down the meat and grabbed a different brand, "You're more of a silent type."

"And you're a real talker." Bobby grunted, pushing his cart forward as to get away from the man, but Crowley didn't get the hint, setting down the package and setting off to stand by the mans side.

"I'm glad you noticed, however most people remember my charm." Crowley chuckled, but Bobby couldn't have rolled his eyes harder. The guy was full of himself, it made Bobby wonder why he didn't just forget the guy a week after his initial stop-off at his house. It's been a year, his name shouldn't have been on the tip of his tongue like it was.

Dammit, it was wasn't it? First thing to come out of his mouth was the mans name. Don't normal people, you know, not recognize a face they only saw like what, twice? Even then, the name would have been forgotten, wouldn't it have been? When he first met Karen, he had forgotten her name on their first date and called her Kelly. Not like she minded, but it was a big fuck-up on an important moment. So what made his name so damn special? Bobby shook off the thoughts, it was just because the guy had a strange name, that's all. Who'd the fuck would forget a name like Crowley when they've heard Steve, Joe, and Bob all there lives?

The explanation made a decent amount of sense, and Bobby found that it was the only one he was willing to believe. He grunted in response to the businessman who didn't seem too ready to leave his side, so they walked in companionable silence for the time being. After a while, Bobby finally finished with what he was shopping for, having totally forgotten who was next to him when he moved to the cashiers counter.

"You know," Crowley eventually said after a lengthy silence, "I've gotten a promotion recently," He eyed the back of his hand a moment, before placing it back in his pockets, watching as Bobby placed the goods on the counter to be rang up.

"Good for you," Bobby replied offhandedly, placing the bread and milk down. He felt steady eyes watching him, almost carefully, with every moment he made. He felt the eyes flick away from him, and for some strange reason he felt he could breath.

"Oh don't be like that, darling." Crowley smirked, "I hadn't said it to sound cocky."

"Then why did you say it?" Bobby replied gruffly, roughly pulling his wallet free from his pant-pocket and paying the amount due. Pulling the cart to the other end so he could put his bags inside of it. Crowley quickly had his items scanned and paid for, just as Bobby was beginning to leave. Bobby thought he was free before hearing those steps from behind him, almost sighing in resignation that he wasn't going to get to leave until Crowley said what he wanted to.

"You didn't give me a chance to finish before you bolted out of there," It's be a lot easier if that bastard didn't sound so damn smug. "Do I make you that uncomfortable?"

It was an honest question, but it stung the hunter more than was probably intended, if any was intended at all. Bobby sighed when they reached his truck, pulling open the side door and stuffing his groceries inside. "You don't make me uncomfortable," He said finally, setting the last of the bags on the chair before slamming the door shut. "I just ain't social, s'all."

Crowley leaned against the front of the truck, watching the hunter push the cart away as he rounded to face the businessman. He stood in front of him, as if waiting for some sort of response. Bobby watched the man smirk in his direction, crossing his legs in front of him promptly, and Bobby felt like he was just maneuvered exactly where he was wanted.

"That's quite alright," Crowley said evenly, "Well, as I was saying before, I was promoted."

"Yeah, I got that much, I guess- uh, congratulations?" Bobby said, sounding somewhat uncertain of himself, Crowley nodded but waved his hand idly.

"Thank you," He cleared his throat, "However, that's not why I brought it up. I was actually on my way to your home after this little visit to the market, but it seems that it wasn't just a coincidence that we ran into each other today."

Bobby gave the man a look, "Whaddya mean?"

Crowley inclined his head, "Well, there's a gathering coming about soon for the holiday festivities, and because of this, and from my new position, I'm inclined to bring a date-" Bobby scrunched up his face, as if ready to snap out some retort, but Crowley beat him to it, "-Or a friend, drinking buddy, what have you. And since I dislike most everyone, you were one of the few people that came to mind to pick."

"Me?" Bobby looked nearly bewildered, "You met me like, what, twice?"

"And you've left an impact that I hadn't forgotten a whole year later," The Scotsmen smiled, pushing himself from the hood of the truck. "Think about it, love. Do you still have my digits?"

Bobby paused, before Crowley raised a hand to stop him. "Don't answer that. Do you have a cell?" Bobby nodded, his hand slipping inside of his vest pocket and pulled the device free from its constraints, Crowley snatched the device from his hands, flipping it open and quickly going through it. He typed a few things before effortlessly tossing it back, Bobby only barely caught it, flipping it back open as if to search for what kind of damage the businessman could have done, but instead only found the man as a new contact in his phone.

"Call me up anytime," Crowley said shifting his groceries that he had set by his foot, grabbing them carefully. "The entire ordeal is supposed to be held in about a week or so, and if you don't call me up before then, than I'll find someone else. If you do, I'll be there to pick you up around 7-ish, be dressed." He began to step away. He stopped short and looked back at the hunter, "Give it a thought, I'd love to have you there."

Bobby grunted in response and gave the man a curt wave and a nod, before retreating back into his truck.

The drive home was one that felt like it sped by and escaped him somehow, he felt tired and told himself there was no way in hell that he was calling that man up to go on that whatever it was, he had better things to do. Bobby was home in no time, stepping out and grabbing the groceries while he was at it, closing the doors behind him as he finally stepped into the house. The temperature in the house felt terribly cold, like he had forgotten to turn on the heater while he was out. It wasn't as nippy outside when he left, if anything it was just a bit chilly, chance of rain perhaps. But it felt like the house had dropped a few good degrees, and the hunter was shivering.

Bobby ignored the chills that ran up and down his back as he began to put the food away, slamming cabinets a bit harder than necessary, shoving the food into their proper locations; opening the fridge and placing some of the colder products away, stored up and out of mind for the time being. The hunger he felt before had faded into a dull ache, having lost his appetite on the drive back.

Bobby tossed his cell from his pocket and tossed it onto his desk, it landing on the cover of an older novel with a dull thud. Checking the answering machine, he looked for messages. 43 messages in all.

The hunter wondered vaguely whether or not he should start calling them back now, or what. He never felt so unmotivated to do anything else in that moment; however, the hunter sighed and heavily pressed down the play button anyhow, everything else can wait.

Hours ticked by, and into the next morning, page after page from book after book was flipped then tossed, books were piling up and towering on the hunters desk as he walked about the library in his living room. He scanned the shelves and pulled another encyclopedia into his palms, scanning the index before placing it back on the shelf. Over 600 books, and still he felt like he had and insufficient amount of information at his fingertips. He was good at hunting, he really was, and sometimes in the description of what those idjits are telling him the animal looks like, sounds like some damn creature escaped from Narnia, or Silent Hill and Bobby has to track the similarities before he can get to killing them.

It wasted so much time that the hunter could of had by himself, and the serious lack of sleep was driving him mad. Bobby ran a hand over the side of his face, scratching at the slight stubble under his jawline, before finally calling back Ellen on the creature she encountered in her hometown. He checked the messages he hadn't gotten to yet, the number 14 flashed in red letters, and Bobby just didn't have the will power to press play. The hunter made to take a nap, grabbing the cap off of his head and made to relax on the couch when he heard the phone go off.

Bobby was hovering over the seat, hands touching the cushions lightly as he stared in disdain at the phone. The ring was shrill and insistent, and Bobby was actually hoping that they would change their mind and hang up, but after the sixth ring he sighed. Cursing under his breath, he straightened his back, moving across the room and picking up the phone.

Sleep would have to wait.

Hours droned on, and it was getting harder for the hunter to keep his eyes open, eventually he ended up walking into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, downing the pot fairly quickly before having to make a new one.

He was running on adrenaline, and caffeine and knew that he was going to hit that wall soon, and if he couldn't get to bed soon, it may be more literally than figuratively speaking.

Collapsing in his desk, another useless book in his hands, he groaned before roughly tossing the book onto his desk. Running his hands roughly across his face before rubbing his tired eyes with his rough hands. The phone rang again and the hunter didn't hesitate to grab a nearby book and fling it at the device, and didn't bother to pick either off of the floor until the ringing finally stopped.

Bobby sighed, leaning forward and using his arms as a pillow as he laid his head on his cluttered desk. He felt pretty damn unappreciated on days like this and it was really starting to get to him. His stomach growled nosily but he ignored it, burying his face into crook of his arm. The phone began ringing again, and Bobby damn near cried. Instead he opted to groaning, loudly, before moving to stand; he went to grab the phone off of the floor and put it back up, effectively, almost instinctively, the ringing stopped before starting up again.

"Why is everyone so goddamn helpless?" He grunted bitterly, switching the phone to silent because he needs his fucking sleep and'll end up giving out false information to the callers which may or may not get them killed. He's doing everyone a favor.

He was out by the time he collapsed into the couch.

Bobby cracked open his eyes, feeling cold and bare and warm all at the same time, the room was dark and the hunter had to check the time on his watch. Around 8:32 PM, he'd slept for nearly 14 hours- Bobby forced himself up into the sitting potion, stretching before a yawn touched his lips. The hunter made to stand, cracking his back and then his neck, pushing himself fully awake. 14 hours, he hadn't slept 14 hours in a few years, hell- he hadn't even slept 4 hours in a few months; but for some reason he felt more drowsy, rather than refreshed.

He shook out his hands and took in the condition of his living room. Frowning, he snatching a few books off of the floor, walking over to grab the book he threw at the phone a few hours beforehand. Bobby dreaded looking at how many messages he might if had, so he made it a point not to get into it until he finally got something to eat, at the very least.

He made a quick sandwich, placing a few things away here and there, grabbing a beer bottle and setting it on his desk. He scanned over the files he had on his desk before quickly straightening them and placing them inside of one of his filling cabinets. Bobby put away a good portion of his books before finally forcing himself to look at the number of idjits that needed his help.

He glanced at the number on his answering machine and almost just waltzed back to the couch to go back to bed, but he knew he couldn't. Bobby frowned deeply, he needed a vacation.

" _Well, there's a gathering coming about soon for the holiday festivities-_ "

No. He wasn't even going to consider it. Besides, that wouldn't be a vacation, he'd still have to interact with people.

He leaned against the table, feeling done with everyone and everything. He wasn't going to go to that dumb idjit party, because he had things he had to do, he didn't have time to go out drinking or spend time with anybody. He was by himself for a reason, he worked better on his own, he didn't need anybody there for him, and he certainly didn't need anybody around him. Crowley's just gonna have to find someone else.

He looked down at the number once again.

" _-The entire ordeal is supposed to be held in about a week or so, and if you don't call me up before then, than I'll find someone else. If you do, I'll be there to pick you up around 7-ish, be dressed-_ "

Bobby reached onto the table, grabbing his phone that he had tossed earlier. He looked at it a moment before flipping it open.

When was the last time he really went out, though? It's been years since anyone's formally offered him to leave the house, other than the boys, and that's just 'cause they worry too damn much.

Bobby skimmed through his contacts and there was his name, with a winky face next to it. Bobby wasn't sure if he could have rolled his eyes any harder than he did, but if he could have, he would have. He wasn't really considering this, was he?

Bobby sighed, he was. He needed out of this stuffy house, and that was one ticket out of there, just a time to relax, and god knows he deserves it.

" _Give it a thought, I'd love to have you there._ "

Fuck it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been getting lazy with these, and for that I'm sorry. I have a few more chapters from the original story I had posted on Fanfiction (Which I do need to update too, actually-- now that I think about it.) So I'm going to quickly upload the next few chappys and then you guys gotta wait. ^^ Sorry about that. But I hope you enjoyed none the less.


	7. Chapter Seven

God, he looked like a complete idjit.

Bobby did another once-over in the mirror, trying to fix his hair as best as he could without heading for his hat. His hair was sticking out in all places, and it gave him a bed-head look that looked just too sloppy; not to mention he hadn't worn his suit in a few years-It still fit, but it felt scratchy and overly pressed against his torso. Bobby tugged at his sleeves, but they weren't going to get any less uncomfortable the more he tugged at them. Cursing under his breath, he made another futile attempt at his hair, but it just wouldn't give.

The hunter had given in and called the uptight bastard; he needed a break, and only him and god knew why. He was tired, worn out and stressed. Hell, he was only 43 years old, he didn't need to look like he was 50. Stress-lines attacked him everywhere they could, and he knew that the weariness was easily noted on his face. Social interaction, whether or not he'd actually like it, would do him some good. Much to his displeasure, however, Crowley was thrilled he got the call, and filled him in on some things, like how to dress and what was going to be served, saying that he was going to do a better explanation the next time he saw him.

Speaking of which, Bobby checked his watch, was going to be in 15 minutes.

And didn't he just feel a bundle of warmth at _that_ thought.

Bobby hadn't felt this nervous in a while, but he could handle, it was just some silly uptight social bullshit. He'd talk to some people, calm his nerves, and maybe get to know Crowley a bit better. Bobby scoffed at the thought- Crowley was just some guy he met, nothing important.

He fixed the cuffs of his jacket, and gave himself a near pitiful look in his mirror. He looked at the suit a moment before giving himself a sad smile; the last time he wore the damn thing was years ago. He had wanted the occasion to be a surprise, and was happily surprised at her reaction. Karen had always wanted to go to that fancy restraunt a few miles off, and Bobby was ecstatic that he was able to book them a seat on Valentines day. That was the last Valentines day they had together, a few months later she died.

Bobby shoved those thoughts away, almost as quickly as they had manifested before turning and looking at his bed, his belt sitting at the edge where he could easily grab it and put it on. The hunter grabbed the leather into his hands, looping it around his waist. Bobby never really needed belts, but it was a nice touch, at least he thought it was.

The hunter looked on his bed one last time, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything that might be important.

Bobby's room was a simple area with the basic materials; A bed, a night stand, a closet, and a dresser drawer. He never needed anything more than that. The bed was set in the middle of the room, pressed against the back wall; made and tucked in, it was originally his and Karen's, but Bobby never had the heart to get rid of it, much like a few other things he kept stored in the room. Like the dresser pressed off to the side, Karen's jewelry box sitting on the top, along with a picture of the two of them together; Sometimes Bobby would flip the picture, that way he couldn't look at it when days were getting especially hard, but in the end he would put it back where it belonged, because the room would suddenly feel wrong when that face wasn't in it anymore.

But the closet, however, Bobby never opened. Karen's clothes were still hung up, her shoes were still sitting on the bottom, while some of her more precious items were still sitting on the top shelf, untouched after all these years. Bobby never opened it, and can only imagine that the clothes still held her perfume, and are most likely collecting dust, but it didn't matter, because they were hers and that's all that really mattered to the hunter. He'd contemplated once or twice about giving them to a GoodWill or someplace of the like, so they could actually be worn, but he never had the courage to open those doors.

The room one nice window, sitting on the opposite wall of the room. Bobby had guns sitting on that wall, and a picture or two but nothing real interesting about it. The closet was in the wall connected to the hallway, with the wall itself jutted out in the room to make that possible- Walls were white, and a little dirty, but nothing disgusting nor really noticeable unless you were looking for it; with the dresser pressed against the wall opposite of the bed.

Simple room, for a simple man, with a few sad memories. Bobby fixed his jacket on his shoulders, before flicking off the light in the room and heading to the living room. He moved down the stairs and walked up to his desk, grabbing the tie on his chair and making to wrap it around his neck properly. There was a knocking at his back door, the hunter cursed under his breath, trying to finish it as he made his way to let Crowley inside.

Opening the door, he took one look at Crowley. The man was fine pressed as usual, except now he was sporting a velvet, near crimson red tie around the neck. Sticking out like a sore thumb surrounded by all that black, and wearing a long black trench coat which was hanging off of his shoulders, his suit was fine and looked terribly expensive. Crowley gave the hunter a charming smile, before spotting the mess of the tie entangled messily around the hunters neck.

He raised an amused brow at the hunter, "Goodness Robert," He stepped inside swatting the hunters hands away and quickly undoing the ungodly knot that Bobby had created. "What am I going to do with you." He muttered, skillfully wrapping the dark tie around the mans throat, before skillfully twisting it, swerving the ends properly and sliding it up; not too tightly, and not too firmly, hugging the hunters neck. He grabbed the mans collar and adjusted it, before giving the man an amused smile. "You ready?"

Bobby was a little awestruck, and a bit embarrassed that the man had done the 'finishing touch' to his suit. Goddamn he felt like a bloody school girl, Bobby settled with rolling his eyes and giving the man an unamused glare. "Yeah, yeah, lets just get this over with."

"Suit yourself." Crowley patted his arm, tilting his head before heading back outside the house, "You coming, darling?" It took a moment for the hunter to realize he was still standing there. The hunter grunted and stepped out behind him grudgingly, flipping off the light before shutting the door.

The drive there was mostly set in silence, Crowley starting in minor conversation every now and again. Bobby grunted in response to most of it, and actually answered in actual English when they were getting closer to the destination. Crowley turned another sharp corner, the car moving smoothly down another long and seemingly never ending road. Bobby's nerves were going haywire, his legs bouncing in an old nervous habit. His fingers tapping against his knee; Bobby kept his eyes glued out the window, the sun was already setting and the sky was blown up in a vivid light blue, mixed in with orange and red near the horizon.

"Don't look so nervous," Crowley spoke after a long moment of silence, "These people can smell fear."

"I'm not nervous," Bobby growled back, but he knew his voice didn't have that diction it needed. "Just hadn't been to a gatherin' in a while, S'all"

Crowley looked over at him for a moment before turning his attention back to the road. "If it's any consolation, they're just a bunch of judgmental pansy's with money up the jacksy and no real place to shove it." The business man smirked when he heard the soft chuckle escape the hunters lips. Bobby glanced over at the dark haired man, before turning his attention back out the window.

"Yeah, that makes me feel so much better." Bobby answered, the sarcasm dripping in his tone but there was no real venom.

Neither of them spoke the rest of the way there, there was no need to. The silence was a bit tense, sometimes a little awkward, but comfortable somehow; as if it was settling around the edges of the silence. Crowley, after a while, finally pulled up to a large glass building, numerous stories high that Bobby didn't even bother attempting to count. There were more cars pulling in after the business man, and a few walking up to the building.

The people he saw were fairly dressed up, arms around one another appropriately, idle chatter here and there. The sky was falling darker as Crowley parked, stepping out of the car; Bobby was fumbling with his seat belt, when the car door was pulled open, a smirking brunette looking down at him. "You coming, Robert?"

Bobby shot the man a cross look, finally grasping the latch and undid his belt, sliding out of the car. Crowley closed the door behind him. Bobby straightened his suit a bit, the clothing having gotten a bit ruffled on the ride over, smoothing out his tie.

"Mind me asking as to why your hair looks as if it went a few rounds with a hound?" The businessman shot smoothly, causing the hunter to look back up at the man. Crowley had his hands in his pockets again, looking both overly confident and somehow bored in his stance, his head tilted off to the side; however the mannerism behind the gesture was unknown.

Bobby dragged his fingers through his hair, as if it would somehow magically fix the mess of a mop on his head. He didn't respond to the business man who gave him a sly look. Crowley stepped up swatted the hunters hands away, "Here," He muttered, moving a few unruly strands to the side, "Hair has a strange placement, you just have to push it back in its proper direction, got it?" the business man smoothed down a few extra strands.

Bobby's eyes watched carefully, nearly awkwardly at the man. Crowley paid him no mind as he went to fixing him up- Bobby bit his tongue, for the most part; He wasn't sure if there was a standard here, and he knew some places had standards, so if Crowley was going to help him meet that standard than he wasn't one to complain. Crowley stepped back after a moment, admiring his work before placing his hands back into his pockets. "Now you look like an absolute vision, Robert."

Bobby rolled his eyes, "Whatever, are we goin' in or not?"

Crowley turned on his heel, nodding slightly, "Right this way." Bobby tugged at his jacket one last time before following his footsteps. The closer they got to the building the more Bobby could hear the voices inside, and there sounded like a lot of people. A strike of nervousness shot up the hunters spine, but settled with letting out some excess air, breathing through his mouth slowly as they stepped past a lovely couple. Bobby eyed them a moment before turning his attention to Crowley whom was only a few steps ahead of him.

The business man pushed at the glass door, stepping aside and letting Bobby in first. Bobby imagined it was supposed to be a sort of 'gentlemanly _ladies first_ ' sort of thing, and he wouldn't put it past the bastard, however he ignored the urge to protect his masculinity and continued into the building.

The area was huge, to say the least; It looked like a front office, sporting a high ceiling and a few hundred guests, the room was brightly lit as if it were filled with stars, the glass reflecting the lights and the room glowed delicately. Women were wearing long elegant dresses that moved like silk over their hips and legs, with lively figures that came in all shapes and sizes. Men were in nicely pressed suits, hair slicked back if not slightly ruffled, glasses of champagne in their hands as they laughed along in groups, some chatting idly amongst themselves.

The place was full of these beautiful people, some larger than others, some with more sullen expressions, but all and all beautiful. Bobby felt a hand press against the small of his back and pressed him forward. He must have been gaping like an idjit, and Crowley must have noticed, saving him from embarrassment he led him further into the crowd of people.

"There's a door off to the far left, which leads to the conference room. It's more like a large ball room, to be completely honest but we have a lot of staff, not many in high places but large enough." Crowley spoke, leading the hunter away from the busy goers, ducking and moving about the crowd until they hit a clearing. "Right over here." The hand on the hunters lower back fell as Crowley moved to stand in front of the hunter, making his way to large double metal doors, they were clear and sleek, almost like mirrors as Crowley grabbed the handle and pulled the first door open, stepping aside once again to allow Bobby in first.

This room, was a bit more harshly lit, but the effect of star light stayed. The area was just a bit larger than the front office and was just as crowded, maybe even more so if that were possible. Tables came in rows, and some that were closer to the front were at round large tables- each clothed with candles in the middle, the fire flicking about. The plates were set out, and most were in their seats. There was a quaint stage in the back of the room where a podium stood, a few chairs resting behind it while a few top figures, at least that's what Bobby assumed they were, were most likely plotting the end of the world like most politics.

"Our seat's are over here," Crowley commented, eyes scanning over the group before taking the lead once again. Bobby looked after him and quickly took in his step behind the man, sidestepping people every now and again. Crowley led them to one of the round tables that had Crowley's name, as well as a few others on the plates. Crowley grabbed his and pushed it aside, pulling Bobby's seat out for the man before taking his own.

Their table was empty, for the most part. There were five seats, and one of them, besides the ones Crowley and himself were residing in, that was filled. A man sat there; He looked a bit older, could be around Bobby's own age but he couldn't be totally sure, his hair was very short and light, like a greying blonde almost. He looked like a father, he had that sullen suspicious expression most fathers had when he looked around, but he also looked like he could have been a drinker, and by the looks of his empty champagne glass, he most likely was. But the most distinct feature on him, was probably the yellowing of his eyes, like some sort of disease, or genetic disorder, either way, they were looking directly at him.

"This is Azazel," Crowley spoke up, noticing, maybe for the first time, that the man was sitting there. At the sound of his name Azazel smiled, leaning forward in his seat and reached out his hand to Bobby. "Azazel, this is Robert."

"Nice to meet you, Robert."" His voice sounded like cigarettes, and his grin looked like that of a lion, but Bobby smiled back grasping the mans hand and gave a firm shake.

"Same here, but please. Call me Bobby." Azazel nodded before sitting back in his seat, looking on towards the stage.

"He manages the lower floors," Crowley spoke up, "Him and Alastair keep a decent eye on the staff, and overlook most of the managing to newcomers who join Purgatory Placements," Bobby watched the man a moment before looking back at Crowley. "Because of them, most of the staff refer to this place as Hell," Crowley chuckled lightly, "I think the name fits, actually."

Bobby nodded, "So, you said you were getting promoted." Crowley nodded back at him, "To what? Exactly?" Bobby made a small shrug of the shoulders while he spoke. Crowley leaned back in his seat, folding his hands on his lap.

"Vice president, or Co-CEO as some put it, right under the Queen of Hell herself." Crowley chuckled, "The more formal name, as the company likes to put it, is King of the Crossroads."

"King of the Crossroads?" Bobby snorted, "Makes it sound a lil' over done, don't you think?"

Crowley shook his head good naturedly, "Not really, I personally enjoy the ring of it. Besides, I think it fits."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, well I'm in charge of making deals with costumers, and to make sure that they're placed under our care. We're like an..-" Crowley waved his hand a moment, as if looking for the right words. "An insurance company, if you will. We look after individuals for 10 years, and if they live after the 10 years they're paid all the money they gave to us during that time period, almost like a bank, or a shiny penny for a rainy day." Crowley straightened his seating position, "They pay us money, any amount they desire, to keep it safe from the market crashing, or what have you. If they die before the 10 years is out, we come to collect. That's where I come in."

"So you're like a more 'thrill seeker' insurance company." Bobby stated, almost flatly. Crowley shot him an amused look, snatching two glasses of redish champagne as a waiter gracefully slid on by, handing one to the hunter.

"If that's the kind of thrill seeker these people are, I'd say they needed help. Either have the money or lose it, it's just how it is." He looked into his glass, before taking a careful sip. Looking back up at the hunter. "Well, I'm the one who makes sure all the deals that come in are accounted for, along with the money given. That's what a normal Crossroads worker does, and now I've been given the extra work by keeping track of the Crossroads as well as the deals and individuals."

"That sounds pretty busy," Bobby looked inside of his cup, as if something might crawl out of it, but ended up taking a timid drink. Tasted just as fancy as it looked.

"I thought the same thing, but sense most of the Crossroads has his or her work cut out for them, it's really not much more difficult." Crowley set down his drink, "A few rouge here and there, and sometimes I'm forced to travel to check out other branches of the company, but really it's fairly easy."

Bobby was quiet a moment, "Why do they call it Crossroads?"

Crowley looked up at Bobby, as if he hadn't really thought about that before. After a moment, he shrugged. "In old biblical stories, and lore-" He gestured to Bobby as he tried to sit up, "If you will, have had demons that would make deals with mortals or the living. This usually occurred at a Crossroads, summoning them and all that nonsense." Crowley waved his hand, "I suppose that when we started making 'peoples dreams come true'-" He made quotations in the air, "That it gave us the name, and people aren't above calling us demons." The business man smirked at this, turning to glance about the room a moment before looking back at the hunter.

"So, who was the Crossroads king, before you?" Bobby asked, taking another drink of his champagne. Crowley shook his head.

"I've been in this company for years, but I don't really know." The man shrugged, "I know that there was one, and I know that he or she burrowed away in their office, I've just never seen them, or heard their name." He face scrunched up a moment before grabbing his glass once again, "Never really thought about it."

Bobby just nodded his response when he heard the electric tap of the speaker, his head snapping up to the stage to see a thin, boney looking woman at the podium. She was tall and very pale looking, sickly almost, with full volumned blonde hair, and a soft yet angular face. She looked to be a bit younger than himself, but there was a striking maturity about her that made her seem a bit older. She wore a white, revealing dress that hung like silk around her ankles, her eyes looked pale, from where Bobby was sitting, not to mention there was something- vaguely snake-like about her.

The room seemed to settle down a bit as people began getting into their seats, two women took their seats at Bobby's table but the hunter paid them no mind, keeping his eyes trained on the woman. The voices seemed to shush by themselves, and the lights dimmed a little, waiting for the woman to speak. Bobby's eyes briefly glanced at Crowley but averted them when she cleared her throat.

"Hello everyone, I would like to thank you all for coming today, and I know this year had been a bit of a difficult one, we fought through it and hopefully we'll have it better for the years to come." Her voice sounded smooth and low, like warm milk pouring and chocolate melting. "For those who haven't met me, and for those who've just started working here; My name is Lilith, and I'm pleased that you all could come in and enjoy today as a big corporal family." She smiled widely, it seemed nearly faked. Her teeth were a bright flawless white, straight and her lips were full and painted red.

She spoke for a bit, talking about the plans for that year and what was going to happen, some changes that were going to be made and a few special announcements with which she announced the promotion and a few peoples raises. She told everyone about a few tweeks in management, which is where Crowley came in, and luckily he wasn't asked to give some silly speech. Crowley looked relieved when she finished talking about him, and Bobby knew that he was thinking the same thing. After all was said and done, she thanked everyone once again, and announced that the food was going to be served momentarily.

When she stepped away from the podium, most people stayed in their seats as the waiters slowly began to bring out the entree's. Crowley got up, patting the table to get Bobby's attention, "I'll be back, there's something that calls to my attention." He said, before stepping away from the table. Bobby watched after him, suddenly feeling terribly uncomfortable that he was gone. Was there a specific thing he was supposed to do? Or just sit there? There wasn't exactly a manual on this sort of thing, or if there was, he didn't have it. Bobby looked back at the table, where one of the girls who had sat down was looking at him, a smirk on her face.

She looked fairly young, maybe mid-twenty's at the very least, a little pudgy around the cheeks with long dark hair, and warm brown eyes. She looked friendly, but had this stance about her that spoke smoke and rough edges, wearing a dark red velvet dress that looked almost black. She eyed Bobby a moment and gave a friendly smile, "The names Meg," She said, reaching her hand forward, "I don't think I've seen you around."

Bobby shook his head, "You haven't." He shook her hand before settling back in his seat, "The names Bobby."

"Hello Bobby," Her voice sounded like coffee, and wine, something was smooth and yet just a tad cocky, if not playful about it. She tilted her head after where Crowley had disappeared to, "You Lucky the Leprechauns date, or.." There seemed to be something she was waiting for, some silent explanation with how she dragged out the 'or'.

Bobby pulled a face before shaking his head, "No, no. Just a friend he asked to tag along." Meg nodded, but the look she was giving him told him she didn't believe it. She elbowed the girl beside her, who was talking with Azazel. The girl looked at Meg like she was confused, before following her eyes and looked at Bobby.

She also had very dark long hair, but her face was a bit longer than her friends. She looked to be about the same age, at least mid-twenties. Her lips were full as she gave the hunter a quaint and polite smile, which Bobby shot back at her. She seemed to be a bit taller than Meg, not to mention a tad bit thinner, but not by much. She had this very friendly look about her, but something set off an alarm in Bobbys head, something about her seemed deceiving, or looking for attention in all the wrong places. She wore a more casual dress, something you'd find on Ebay if you weren't really trying to dress to impress. It was a simple strapless mini black dress that hugged her frame, it looked wonderful on her.

"Hi," Her voice sounded sweet, and light, "My names Ruby, and you are-?"

"This is Bobby," Meg introduced for him, "Came here with the boss," Ruby nodded at this and leaned in to grab his hand, they shook before relaxing in their seats again. "So Bobby," Meg began, "What brings you here?"

Bobby chuckled, "Depends on what you mean." He grabbed his drink as the waiter came to their table, setting down some courses of food for them all to eat. Music began playing, it was elegant and simple, and set the mood of the place nicely. Formal but calm.

Meg chuckled at the hunter, glancing at the food a moment before looking back at the man. "I know what you mean," She raised her chin, "So, how'd you run into Crowl's? He's not very easy to find."

Bobby raised a brow at her, eyeing her down a moment before speaking. "That's a long story." He admitted, and Ruby snorted kind heartedly, and Meg smirked.

"We have all night, sweet cheeks." She mused, and Bobby sighed lightly. So he told them, because he had no reason not to.

They talked, and he told the fantastic story of him running into Crowley as they ate, Meg hadn't really said anything as he spoke, and watched him with steady eyes, just drinking in his words. At a few points Ruby would smirk, or giggle- borderline on laughing, but Meg stayed completely still for the most part, her eyes trained on him as he went through the motions step by step of what happened, the cause and effect. "-And then well, here I am." He finished, setting down his now empty drink.

Meg was silent a moment, and Ruby looked at her. Meg squinted her eyes, before opening her mouth. "A man knocked on your door and you let him in. Why?"

Bobby chuckled, "That whole story, and that's your take-a-way?"

"Oh no, I heard it. And it sounds like the beginning of some romantic comedy, along with two sappy men who can't see it." She smiled, "But what compelled you to let him in the house? If that were me, I would have slammed the door in his face, regardless if I knew him- I've seen your house, when I came to pick him up last year. No offense, but Crowley doesn't seem to be the type who would just drop in because he was desperate."

Bobby looked at her, shaking his head. "I don't know, I would have found the next house if it came down to it. Not sure what compelled him to stop by." He paused, "I guess I couldn't just leave him out there, he looked like he didn't belong out in that neck of the woods and I guess I was just happy to oblige."

"The second time, now that takes the cake." Meg spoke, brushing her fingers through her hair, "I know Crowley, I've worked with him for years, I've helped him through thick and thin and he's never given me a cursory glance, but you. You two spent your night drinking together and talking about what you blinded unicorns talk about. Doesn't add up to me-" She tilted her head, "I'd say he's got some alterior motive, and I know that's more up his lane."

Bobby tilted his head at her, "Could be, I don't know." A waiter took his empty glass and refilled it with more of that sweet tasting champagne. Bobby nodded his thanks, before the waiter set off again. "He just seems like some guy I ran into because of some unfortunate car failures."

"Like I said," Meg smiled, "Sounds like the beginning of some sappy romantic comedy." Bobby watched as Meg looked around a moment before moving to stand. "Well, I'm tired of sitting around, you care to dance?" She smirked, Bobby gave her a surprised look.

"Oh, I'm not much of a dancer..-"

"Neither am I, but that's not stopping me." She moved around the table, holding out her hand, "C'mon cupcake, you looked nervous as hell when I first saw you, lets ease you up a bit." Bobby looked at her hand before sighing, he took her hand and she helped pull him to his feet. "Now that's more like it," She gave him a confident smile, "C'mon, the dance floor is this way." She turned to her friend, "Don't wait up." To which Ruby rolled her eyes at her, before shooting her friend a smile.

Meg led him to the dance floor, situating them in the middle around a few other couples whom were waltzing about. "Alright, sweet cheeks, do you know how to waltz?" She asked, an amused tilt in her voice. Bobby smiled.

"Yeah, a bit." He slid his hand around her waist before taking her hand, Meg placed her hand on his shoulder keeping an decent and respectful distance between them. Bobby started the first steps, before they hit off in proper rhythm.

"You know," Meg began after a while, "I can see why he likes you."

"Who? Crowley?" Bobby sounded vaguely incredulous.

"Yeah," She tilted her head upward towards the hunter, "You have a certain charm to you, a kind people like us don't get to see very often."

"What do you mean?" Bobby spun her, Meg's dress flailing at the bottom before catching her hand once again.

"Most like us are into that whole, high society, living it large kind of life, and we deal with people just like us- It's no wonder why our company is so rich. Because it's so rare to find people who honestly get that rougher part of life and seem so content." She mused, "You seem content, a bit tired, don't get me wrong, but you don't look like you're in any rush to get a different life."

"Living on a schedule." Bobby replied lamely.

"But would you ever switch it up? Or even leave it behind?" That was a good question. Bobby spun her again, as they waltzed across the dance floor, more and more couples standing up after they finished eating to join in.

Bobby looked up from her after a moment, catching a glimpse of Crowley from across the room, he seemed to be talking to two men, one of which was Azazel, and the other, Bobby assumed, had to have been Alastair. Crowley seemed to feel eyes on him and looked up, catching the hunter gaze, their eyes locked and Bobby suddenly felt very flustered. Crowley winked at him before turning back to the men, not having paused in talking the entire time. Bobby averted his gaze back to Meg, who seemed to have some sort of knowing look in her eyes.

"You're a very good dancer." She said after a moment, "You married?"

The question came out of no where, but Bobby didn't feel like it was a hit-on, it seemed more or less like an honest question. Bobby shook his head, "Widowed." He said after a while, and Meg shot him a empathetic look.

"I'm sorry to hear about that."

Bobby shook his head, "Don't be, it's been years."

Meg was silent for a second, "What was her name?"

Bobby hadn't been asked that question in a long time, he looked at her and sighed. "Karen," He spoke, drawing out her name slowly, "her name was Karen."

"That's a pretty name," Meg began but was cut off by something behind the hunter, she tsked. "Looks like Ruby is in a bit of a doosy." She chuckled, "I got to see to this sweet cheeks." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the hunters cheek, "Give me your phone." Bobby gave her a bemused look but she persisted. Eventually he pulled the device from his pants and handed her the device. She typed something in before quickly handing it back, "Text me sometime," She pointed an accusing friendly finger at his face, "And stay out of trouble."

Bobby smiled at her, and she shot him a broad smile back, patting his arm. "Alright, it was nice meeting you Bobby, I'll see you around." She moved to leave, but stopped short, "And thanks for the dance."

"It's no problem-" He responded, and she moved forward to squeeze his arm.

"Call me up, whenever your unicorn is causing you trouble." She patted his arm, "Alright?"

Bobby just smiled at her as she went to leave, watching her go. He had a feeling she was calling Crowley the unicorn, he just didn't get why. It must have been some inside thing with her that he wasn't supposed to get, Bobby shrugged it off. He turned back around to see Crowley heading towards him. The business man made to stand in front of him, smirking at the hunter with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"I'll take it you met Meg?" Bobby nodded, turning his head to look at her, she was talking to Ruby and the two seemed to be laughing about something, and Bobby assumed it had to of been the poor sap Meg saved her friend from.

"She's a real charmer, and a good loyal worker. Easy to get along with, actually." Crowley filled in, before eyeing the man curiously. "So, how are you enjoying yourself?"

"I'm pretty good," Bobby answered, "Where'd you run off to?"

Crowley smirked at him, "I had to talk about a few things to a few of my workers, nothing extraordinary." He shifted on his feet, "I didn't know you could dance."

"You saw that?" And for some strange reason that was more embarrassing than the eye contact a few minutes before. Crowley nodded.

"You're not half bad, Robert. Who taught you how to dance like that?" Crowley seemed both amused and interested, but to be honest Bobby wasn't entirely sure how to answer. He just kinda- knew.

However, before he could attempt any sort of response, the woman from the podium, whose name Bobby believed to be Lilith, stepped up and joined in on the conversation. "Hello Crowley, enjoying yourself?" The business man nodded, and the woman turned to face Bobby. "Well, hello there. I don't think I've had the honor of meeting you." She held out her hand which Bobby accepted in stride, like he had been all night.

"My names Lilith, who are you?"

"This is Robert," Crowley answered for Bobby, "He's my guest." Lilith looked between the two of them and smiled; Bobby had a feeling that the smile was meant to be warm, but something about her made it seem icy.

"Well I'm glad to have met you, Robert. So how are you enjoying yourself?"

"Nicely, thank you. Uhm, you have a uh- nice thing going on here." Bobby commented, "You the CEO?"

"Why thank you, and of course." She nodded, twirling her drink between her fingers, "How could you tell?"

Bobby was at a loss for words for a moment, sharing an uncomfortable glance between himself and Crowley. Crowley shot him a look that screamed apology, and Bobby looked back at Lilith, who seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"Well, you just seem to carry leadership and confidence wherever you go. And the speech you had kind of gave it away." Bobby tried, and to his luck, it worked. Lilith smiled like a child on Christmas before patting his shoulder, "You should stop by more often, I like you." She looked at Crowley, "You found yourself a real charmer."

Bobby's face fell, and he saw the sides of Crowley's lips twitch, as if he was holding back the urge to laugh. "Yes, of course. Thank you." She shot him one last smile before stepping away. Once she was out of ear shot, Crowley let out a few uncontainable laughs, his smile breaking his face. The sound caused Bobbys shoulders to relax before striking the business man half-heartedly on the shoulder. Crowley winced before looking back at the hunter with an amused gaze in his eyes.

"That's for not denying we were a couple."

"Oh come now, Robert. You had to admit that it was funny. Besides, you didn't deny it either." The business man pointed a finger at the hunter, as if to prove that he's not the only one in the wrong here. Bobby relaxed exceptionally, before letting out a few chuckles himself. The two of them began chatting idly, heading back to their seats, and it was a lot like the conversation they had almost a year ago- It was a little weird to think about, that they spoke and knew each other a year ago.

The event began coming to an end, and for a good majority of it Crowley would talk about storys and people he met, conspiracy's and Bobby would put in his own input here and there, and that's how Crowley initially found out about Rumsfeld.

"I didn't know you owned a dog," Crowley said after a long moment, setting his drink aside. Bobby shrugged.

"The last time you were there he was at the vet getting fixed up, he'd gotten sick. And today he's back there, he was injured in the back when one of the car parts came loose, hit him right in the leg and damn near broke it. I'm picking him up tomorrow."

"I'm sorry to hear about that." Crowley started, brushing his hands through his hair. "What breed is he?" Crowley asked, leaning back in his seat.

"Rottweiler," Bobby answered, "He was named after Donald Rumsfeld who was the U.S. Secretary of Defense from 2001, up to 2006." He finished up his drink, looking at the empty glass before setting it aside. "You have any dogs?"

Crowley shook his head, "No, But I plan on getting a few hounds soon. I used to have a one when I was a lot younger, a German Sheppard named Carrot." Crowley let out a sad laugh, "Well, those are the names you get when you let a four year old name it."

Bobby sputtered, " _You_ named it Carrot?" He laughed, "That's priceless."

"Shut up," Crowley snickered, "If you were four and had the chance to name a dog, you'd name it bulldozer or screwdriver."

"Would not!"

"Would to!" Crowley retorted, "Or something worse, I just can't think of anything right now."

"Real smooth." Bobby shot back, and received a kick under the table.

"Look who's talking." The two of them let out a few good laughs, before changing the subject. They spoke like this for the rest of the night, and Bobby was surprised at how well they got along. The hunter half expected them to chat a moment and for him to be set aside as Crowley went to go speak to others with more money than him; Regardless, Bobby was happily surprised at the evenings outcome.

When everything was said and done, and people were leaving, they said their goodbyes and set off to the black Ford Maverick that sat near the edge of the parking lot. It was dark outside, the sky having hooded over with the night, a few stars peeking in every now and again. The lot was illuminated by the building, and gave it that sparkling look, the cool night air brushing against both men as they got in the car. The drive back was a lot less tense than the drive there, and Bobby was very happy he decided to come along, the conversation they held up in the car was a decent one before finally making it back to the house. Crowley, being the gentlemen that he was, walked up to the door with Bobby before saying his goodbye for the night.

"We should do this again," Crowley said, stepping up to the door, "And hopefully soon, I'd love if you'd keep in contact."

Bobby was too tired to argue, and a little tipsy from all the champagne he had drank, nodding along to what Crowley was saying.

The business man patted the mans arm, stepping away subtly and making his way to leave, "I'll see you around, Robert. Ta ta."

"Yeah," Bobby waved back, "Bye."

The hunter watched as Crowley got back into his car and drove off, watching the tail lights in the distance before heading back inside of his house. He turned on his kitchen light, shrugging his coat off his shoulders before tossing it nearly carelessly onto the back of his kitchen tables chair, setting off into the living room, pointedly ignoring the phone and heading upstairs. He went directly to his room, pulled off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed. It was a long, eventful day, and he was tired.

Pulling his phone from his pants and placing it on his bedside stand, he didn't bother taking off his clothes as he climbed under the sheets, and for once in a long time, he slept peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a long chappy! This one however has a bit more Crobby, (Hinting towards it anyways) and some Meg and Bobby friendship because I really think that if she wasn't a demon that they'd get along. I really think that Meg would have gotten along with everyone if she wasn't a demon, but maybe that's just me. We'll be seeing more of her, because y'know- I really like Meg.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Sam Winchester chapter-- Because I /did/ say Sabriel, and I also said Destiel, and we'll be seeing that as we work around the main plot [Crobby]-- so I'll be keeping my promise. ^^
> 
> And-- fair warning, there is mention of Drug Use/Abuse in this chapter, however it's past mentions of it, not that actual act.

Mornings were dull and bright, sometimes cloudy with a chance of rain, and if he's lucky, it'll snow and he won't have to leave his flat.

Sam Winchester used to be a morning person, he truly was. Now when people talk of mornings, he'll flinch or let out a tired groan. He used to love going out in the mornings for a quick jog, snacking on a nutri-grain bar, or biking around the block a few times; and when he used to live with Bobby, that's exactly what he'd do. Bobby always found getting up in the morning (By choice) was ridiculous, (Although sometimes Bobby wouldn't even sleep.) but supported him anyhow, and Dean- Well, Dean thought waking up before 1:00 P.M _ever_ was an issue. Mornings, as the time ticked on by, started losing it's initial appeal.

He met Jessica on a morning.

It was Thursday, a normal Thursday morning. He'd get up, jog around campus a bit, before heading back to his dorm for a bit of a snack and a quick shower before heading to his first class. He was taking Law at Stanford, and he can still remember how proud Bobby was of him, Dean smiled, he seemed happy, and Sam didn't ask for more than their approval. That seemingly happiness that Dean showed Sam was all he needed to pursue his life in Law.

Dean, no matter what, always wanted Sam to work with him on cars, and get a little down and dirty with actual mechanics, grease on his elbows and sweat on his brow. No matter how much Dean denied it, Sam knew that the reason his older brother went down to join mechanics, was because of their dad. Dean was four when he lost their mom and dad, and Sam was only a few months old, barely even one yet. He didn't remember their faces, or their voices, he only ever really remembered Dean, and Bobby, growing up at the Salvage Yard and being taught how to hunt deer and raccoon. Dean, on the other hand, remembers them. Barely, and Dean would confirm that, but he remembers bits and pieces, little things here and there- Bobby had called him John's good little soldier, and Mary's little angel, and Dean was a well behaved kid at four, unlike most who were his age.

He was getting off topic.

Jessica, morning, Thursday. Thursday morning. What day was it? Wednesday? Yeah, that seemed about right. He had work today, didn't he? Sam checked his phone, looking for his schedule. Yeah, but he had a few hours.

Hours, an hour. Hour was a funny thing, 60 minutes, 3600 seconds, 3600000 milliseconds, and so on and so on. Right to the solid decimal placement and another added on zero. A lot of things could happen in an hour, a lot more had even happened in a minute, and it's unimaginable how many things can happen in a moment.

He lost everything in a moment.

He lost his mom and dad in a moment. A fire had started in his nursery, and nobody was really able to tell him how or what went down in those few moments, but he was told countless times that Dean saved him. He was told, as he grew older to understand what was being said to him, that when the fire started, it woke his brother up, the smoke alarm was going off and he had to make see what was going on. Dean never really talked about it, but from what he got out of him, was that his brother ran through what was untouched by fire and scooped him out of his crib, and he ran.

Sam sometimes hears stories about someone's big brother being their hero, and he sometimes wonders what they mean by it. More often then not, they don't even begin to compare to what kind of brother Dean was, and for that, he was grateful. Dean was one of a kind, even at four.

He lost another in a moment as well.

Moments were strange, they happen suddenly, before a blink of an eye and sometimes it feels impossibly quicker, done and over it before it could even register.

There was another fire, but this one took his dreams and aspirations away.

He met Jessica on a Thursday morning. She had bumped into him on his way to his Law class, he ended up dropping half of his stuff on the floor; Sam sometimes smiles to himself when he remembers how embarrassed she was. He ended up finding out that she was in his Law class with him, he just never really noticed her before. One thing led to another, and they hooked up, or got together, however you want to see it. It was great, she was kind and supportive and a strong footing, she was able to keep Sam on the right track and push his feet forward when things got hard. She was everything Sam could have ever asked for, and more.

Dean had came strolling into town, him and Sam had been planning a get together for the weekend, some quality guy to guy time, brother to brother. They went on a hunting trip, and Sam hadn't been home in a few days. They bickered and teased each other, and they just had fun, it was nice to see his older brother after a few years, and it pulled away that stress from school, especially sense he had an appointment at 10 in the morning on Monday, he couldn't miss that and he had been stressing about it ever sense he heard.

Dean dropped him off early in the morning, around 2 or 3 A.M and they said their goodbyes. Sam left feeling good, tired, but good.

However, the moment he opened that door he had no idea that he was only a few steps away from losing everything. He could hear Jessica humming in the kitchen, making late night cereal no doubt, she did that a lot, and Sam always had to go out on milk runs. He announced he was home, and he heard the glass bowl to her cereal being set down as the blonde came running in, giving him a hug. They talked a bit, and soon went to bed, he had the appointment- the appointment was important, that was his whole future.

He doesn't believe he was asleep for more than a moment when he heard the fire-alarm going off, he remembers the light flickering from behind his eyelids and that scorching heat; The air was thick and he could barely breath. That's when he saw the fire, his adrenaline kicking in as fear struck him to his core.

Sam remembers kicking out of the sheets that clung sweatily to his skin, reaching for Jessica who was already wide awake, seeming to have woken up moments after him. He grabbed her arm and she jumped on the bed as they tried to escape, part of the ceiling were beginning to collapse, and furniture began to smolder and wilt as everything began to turn to ash and black smoke. Sam was running to the door when a loud crash erupted causing the place to shake. His arm jerked, and he thought Jessica was hesitating but the hand let go, and it was yanked from his grip.

He had turned around and saw that half the room had collapsed, and he can hear her on the other side. She wasn't crushed, but she was screaming. Sam remembered his panic, he remembered another voice joined in on the screaming and it was his own. He reached for the rubble but was burned in his attempt, some pipes having came loose as the building structure began to collapsed. He tried again, a desperate attempt, and ignored the pain, screaming for her but a hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back. He fought against it, not looking at whoever had him as he tried to save her but he was pulled away, kicking and screaming, sobbing for her.

He was dragged out of the room, looking up at who had him, only to see Dean with this solemn broken expression on his face.

This was the second time in his life that Dean had saved him from a fire. If Dean hadn't of showed up, he would have stayed and there, and burned with her, or at least have died from suffocation.

The fire had been started because two boys who shared a flat, right above his and Jessica's, had been getting high and some of the ash of their joint, or maybe they dropped it? Sam doesn't really remember, it's all a bit blurry- he'd been so furious. Well, _something_ they were smoking wasn't put out and set off properly, caught their own flat on fire and they were too disoriented to put it out when they had the chance, it started spreading and they ditched before it got worse and didn't bother calling the police department.

Too afraid to get arrested.

The fire spread, and spread, until it started branching off to other parts of the building, and Sam wonders sometimes how long the fire had been burning, and why he didn't wake up quick enough to get Jessica out of there.

He'd met Jessica on a Thursday morning.

He lost Jessica on a Monday morning, on a Sunday night.

It wasn't fair, and it'll never be fair. Sam knows this, and pushes forward, as best as he can.

After her death, Sam felt like he was floating, like nothing was real and that it was all just some twisted dream that he never really got the chance to wake up from. He'd been lost, broken, and feeling angry, all the time. He never went back to Stanford, and just drifted away after the incident. He lost his chance for a decent future, because the appointment was the furthest thing from his mind, and to be honest, he just didn't care.

Dean and Bobby were there for him, while Dean could only empathize, Bobby had more sympathy on the matter. Bobby had lost Karen, a sweet woman Sam never had and would never meet. Sam could never say that Bobby didn't know what it was like to lose someone who was their entire world, no matter how many times he wanted to snap and say so, because it would make him feel better, but he had better control than that. He's seen Bobby on worse days, when he's missing that sweet woman that he cherished so much, that woman that was just as much as a ghost as his own mother was, and it was sad to think about.

Bobby understood he needed his space, but he also understood that it was so much easier to occupy your time rather than to think about it. Sam knew that Bobby was only trying to help, but it just felt like he was falling further and further away from the ones he called family. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, he came across Ruby.

Ruby was a girl who was all smoke and rough edges, a dealer of sorts that had run into Sam while he was off at a bar, having a few drinks trying to get his head straight. Once he rose above the noise and confusion, the smoke dragging across his face from nearby cigarette smoke, the boy looked up, seeing her sitting only a few seats away. She was looking directly at him, this hungry look in her eye, it was sharp and twisted, and seemed to strip him from the seam. The brunet averted his eyes, but he could still see her looking at him. Eventually she had strolled over with a bit of suave in her step.

Sam resisted at first, not looking her in the eye, but as the drinks kept coming, the more composure he lost, and by the end of the night he was putty in her hands.

Now, a decent person would have tried to take him home, a decent person wouldn't have attempted anything unethical, hell- Sam wouldn't have been surprised him someone advanced on him in his current state. But no, Ruby twisted his drunken trust between her finger tips, pulled and tugged, and convinced him to take a few hits in the back.

Those few hours ruined him.

He became addicted, not only to the venom, but to her. She not only supplied him, but she made him feel _good_. She led him broken, and limp, under her wing- He was vulnerable, making worse decisions, sneaking out whenever he could to see her, tiptoeing around his brother and behind Bobby. Sam tried to convince himself to care more, he really did, it hurt him to lie to the two people he cared about, but he felt this compelling need- He fought it, but in the end it didn't matter because he'd be back behind bars, and hidden in alleys or bathrooms getting another hit before stepping off.

He became dependent on her, on the buzz and thrill it gave him. He was lost before- Having just lost Jessie, he was such a fucking wreck. He shouldn't have let this go on for as long as he did, but he couldn't stop.

Eventually, Dean found out.

It was months into it, but if felt like forever, and eventually Dean caught on. But something told Sam that Dean had the hint from the beginning, and was too blinded by brotherly trust to admit to himself that Sam was even doing it. It wasn't hard to see how, however, now that he really thought about it. The lack of eye contact, when he was a normally very watchful person- The loss of motivation and apathy toward his future goals; having completely given' up Stanford. His sudden withdrawal from friends and family, spending more time with Ruby than anyone else at this point. Bobby started noticing things were wrong too; some more smaller than what Dean could find, but he noticed them all the same. The weight loss, the lack of breath, even his disorientation and very lazy nature.

It was maybe the fact that he no longer ran in the morning, that set off some red alarms. After Jesse had died, for a while, all he did was running, and when he suddenly stopped altogether, it came to his family's attention.

When they caught wind of what was happening, Ruby seemed to disappear off the face of the fucking earth, and Sam was only left to fend for himself. He felt this aching need to see her again, to get just one more hit- But Dean held onto him like a disappointed but scared older brother with an iron fist. He swore he'd look after his little brother, and that's exactly what he did.

Sam spent months in rehab after that, going through withdrawal that set his body aflame. He felt cold and hot, dizzy like the world wasn't even real and neither was he, his heart beating faster before slowing down and repeating the process. He was sweating and felt sick to his stomach, jittery and jumpy, sometimes even plain violent, but it began to wear him down as the toxin was drain from his system.

He grew distant, from everyone and everything. He'd zone out a lot, walking through life in a blur and a haze after he was finally released. Bruises on his wrists that lasted weeks after he struggled against his restraints when he had one of his more violent bursts. It was scary, frightening, and Dean couldn't even look him in the eye for a long time- And to be totally honest, Sam believes that those times were the hardest to deal with.

The disappointed big brother, the only other piece of family, other than Bobby, that hadn't given up on him. He looked at Sam with such distain, and even now, after everything was over, years later, Dean can't take back the looks he gave, and Sam can't take back what he did.

He told them about Ruby, on the nights back at Bobby's when things were a little bit harder. They'd listen, holding a sense of empathy towards him, hearing but never truly listening. Sam was glad for this- He didn't want them to understand. He knew he should, but if they did, would they think less of him? He thought about that a lot, and he didn't want to risk it. They already didn't think much of him, at least, that's what Sam presumed- Honestly, he was just one disappointment to the next, and he was just waiting for the day Bobby tells him to lose his number.

Sam's not sure if he could live with that.

Eventually he was back on his feet, his system as clear as it could be, but he still felt dirty. He'd taken to jogging again, almost a year later, his diet came back and so did Dean's snarky remarks about 'not being a rabbit'. Everything seemed okay again, and, after Dean, he eventually moved back out of Bobby's. He moved to Ohio for a little bit before leaving to West Virginia where he worked two part-time jobs, and lived in a quaint little apartments just off of Toluca Lake. It was like that for about a year, calling in on Bobby constantly, checking in on his health and everything seemed normal.

All Sam ever really wanted was normal.

Normal life, normal career, but normal never seemed to want him, and everything always seemed to spiral out of hand. He had tired to apply to Stanford, but after they checked his record, they denied him an chance, due to the fact that he had a history with drugs; it could have been solely on his rehab record itself, it wasn't too far fetched to believe the doctors recorded every little thing he did wrong and submitted it into his own personal file.

He gave up his dream to be a lawyer after that, and continued to work constant shifts.

It was a Thursday morning.

Sam was working double shifts at a restaurant a few miles away from where he lived, when a man with golden hair, and these piercing ember eyes, like sunlight shining through a clear glass of whiskey at 7:00 in the morning, came strolling in. He was in casual attire, a sucker between his lips. He instantly caught Sam's eye, even though the brunet tried all he could to just shoot the man a polite smile and help him to a seat. Nothing more, nothing less.

The charming man stepped up to Sam at the front, giving him a once over before grinning nearly as wide and as smug as a Cheshire cat. He had this hungry look in his eye, and Sam knew it should have sent off some Red alert to him, but it didn't. Now that he really thought about it, he was glad it didn't.

He quickly found out that the man's name was Gabriel, and he was a serious flirt. But he was smart, and kind, with room under his wing to take on the world and still be sitting comfortably. He had this glint in his eye throughout the time he was there, to the time he left, that was warm and friendly, pulling you in and under and you felt like you were falling.

Sam felt like he was falling.

That was the first time Gabriel showed up to the restaurant, but it wasn't the last.

Everyday for two or three weeks, Gabriel would come in, everyday at the same time, and order the exacts same thing. He would always request the 'moosey waiter with the great hair' for himself, and everyone was happy to oblige, however Sam's boss thought it a bit strange. Sam was a bit fascinated by the man, never really minding that he was called out specifically to take the man's order. They'd chat sometimes, and Gabriel was the first person Sam ever waited on that remembered his name.

He even came up with some catchy little nicknames.

It was a Thursday morning when Gabriel didn't show up.

Sam had been a little concerned, having been actually looking forward to see this short funny man, but as the hour ticked by, Sam forced himself to just get back on with his duties. The day seemed to pass by slowly, and Sam forced himself to push the strange man from his mind- he was actually growing fond of him. The restraunt boomed with business that particular day, and Sam vaguely wondered if Gabriel had showed up, but just didn't ask for him this time. The thought kind of threw the brunet off, but took it as fact. Although he really didn't know for certain.

The day ticked by, and it was coming to a close. People, one by one, were beginning to pile out when he heard the door bells ring.

"Hello Sammich." Came the obnoxious yet familiar voice. Sam spun around to see Gabe standing in the doorway, a broad smile on his lips.

"Hello, sir." Sam said back, and Gabe winced at the 'sir', smirking at the man.

"Now, how many times do I got to tell you to call me Gabe?" He wiggled his eyebrows and Sam couldn't stop the smile that spread on his lips.

"Just one more time, as always," Sam shot back, brushing his hands on his pants, grabbing a few stray menu's and putting them away. "Is there anything I can do you for?"

"Yes, actually." Gabriel started, "How much do you like your job?"

Sam was stunned a moment, giving the man a curious look. "It pays the bills." Sam said after a moment, placing his pen in his apron. Gabe only smiled at him, leaning on the counter as if getting ready to tell him a secret. Sam, despite himself, leaned forward. And Gabriel whispered, carefully, pulling the Winchester in and tossing the bait before reeling him in with those nine simple words the brunet never forgot.

"How would you like to get a real job?"

Sam thought he was joking at first, because even though he's only known the guy about three weeks, he was a bit of a trickster and had a serious sense of humor. Gabriel seemed to get the hint that Sam didn't believe him before rolling his eyes, a kind smirk on his lips as he reached down and pulled his suitcase, that Sam didn't even realize the man was holding, and placed it on the counter. He snapped it open and pulled out some papers.

"I've been watching you for a while now, Sammy." Gabe started, sliding the white pages over the counter top, "And I love your work ethic, and how dedicated you are, barely distracted even when I'm trying to get you to slack off. You're always on top of your game, and we have some spots open that could really use someone like you."

Sam was speechless, grabbing the paper and scanning it over.

_Purgatory Placements_

There's no way- Sam remembered feeling breathless. This company was _impossible_ to get in, let alone be _employed_. They only took the best of the best, people with flawless records, 4.0 Doctorate Degree kind of people.

Sam hadn't finished collage, and had substance abuse and Rehab on his record. This had to be some sort of a joke. His uneasiness didn't go unnoticed, and Gabe seemed to read his mind.

"Don't worry kiddo, your boss-to-be already knows. He looked you up and even though your record has a few hiccups, it doesn't mean good people don't deserve a second chance." Gabe looked at him, his voice the most sincere Sam ever recalls it being, and he swears to god tears are brimming at his eyes. He doesn't know what to do, or even what to say. He feel's like 'thank you' wouldn't even begin to cover what he was feeling.

"So," Gabe started again, giving the man a small warm smile. "You think you could join us?" Sam paused, and Gabe only smirked. It only took a moment, however, for Sam to nod his head, because he really didn't trust his voice at the moment.

Gabriel's smile was worth it. "Great! We'll see you next Thursday, 6:00 A.M sharp." He grabbed a pen from his suit case, grabbing the page he handed Sam, flipping it over and scrawling his name out with a number underneath. "If you got any questions, don't hesitate to call, if you have any kinks, don't hesitate to call." Sam snorted in his laugher, barely able to contain it.

"Tell your boss I said thank you." Sam said, taking the page back from Gabriel, who, once again, only smirked.

"You're welcome." He shot back, before heading out with a large grin on his face, leaving behind a stunned brunet at the register.

His life was finally coming together, and Sammy didn't feel like he deserved this break, but he was grateful for it regardless.

Sam lost everything on a Thursday.

His life stopped, and restarted, on a Thursday.

He remembers the first time coming into work, nervous, maybe a bit overdressed but nobody called him on it. It was strange, but when Gabriel came up to greet him, sucker in his mouth, he still see's that charming customer that ordered the same thing every day for three weeks. Nice, charming, warm and bright, and the man never ceased to amaze Sam. He had his own office space, and Gabe had him running errands around the office before setting him up with doing calls. It was nice, and clean, and the space was just full of bright, if not a bit tired, faces surrounding him.

Gabe would stop by often, tell a few jokes and they'd go out for some coffee. Sam had half-expected Gabe to drop the happy M.O and start ordering him around, and treating him like less of a person, like they did in the movies, but Gabe just didn't. He treated everyone like he would treat himself, and never asked more of Sam rather than the simple errand every now and again- Not to mention the pay was good.

Sam's life was back on track, and Gabe helped level him, sticking him back on his feet, and taking care of the parts that Dean and Bobby seemed to miss. They were both excited for him- Dean especially. Life was okay.

Today was a Thursday, and it wasn't so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys see Ruby's name?  
> Yeah?  
> You remember her in the last chapter?  
> That's right.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I'll be sure to update sooner. ^^


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Dean chappy, and we'll be getting to more of the Crobby soon, but as I said before, it's important that I develop Dean's and Sam's story too. So bare with me there. Enjoy. ^^

The day was long and dragging, and all Dean could think about was getting home.

Costumers were falling from the woodwork, there were so many of them. Plenty of them complete bastards who were never happy, and others who were backwards in their understanding of what they wanted to get fixed; however, a handful of angry costumers wasn't going to bring down a business like this. _Morningstar Repairs_ was the second biggest company out there, right under the wing of _Purgatory Placements_ and one dirty mouth wasn't going to change that.

However, just because the business wasn't in danger, that didn't mean a thing about the workers stress level. Even Garth had been having a rather rough day, and it was rare to see him so put-off. Dean was able to lighten his mood by sneaking in a beer for the guy when Lucifer wasn't looking, because Garth was a good friend, and needless to say, his mood was lifted a bit and was able to get through the rest of the day. Days like that are hard to get by with costumer after customer angry and upset over the littlest things that they never asked for nor mentioned beforehand. So each and every little ounce counts, even if it was for someone else.

Dean adjusted his clothing before pulling his work bag onto his shoulder, which contained a good majority of his tools, the rest of them were set up near the back with the others. The mechanic was covered in grease and grime, dirt and oil and every muscle in his back ached, his arms feeling ready to fall off at any given moment. He groaned lightly as he adjusted the heavy bag on his shoulder, shifting it back before clutching the strap with his opposite arm.

He waved a simple goodbye to Garth on his way out, who at the moment was leaning against the front desk with Charlie, the only female on the team, chatting idly about this and that. Charlie looked up as Dean was making his way out, calling to him to come over before leaving. Dean glanced briefly out before nodding to her and walking over, the female mechanic walked around the desk to face him.

"You were just going to leave without saying goodbye?" She sounded exasperated and shocked, however the smile on her lips told a different story. Dean chuckle, smiling at her. Charlie was sort of like the little sister he never really wanted, but she was great with what she did. Spunky and straight forward, clever and often downright brilliant given the topic. Charlie typically knew her stuff, and if she didn't, she made sure to get figure it out. She had originally been working as one of the chief T.I at _Purgatory Placements_ but when her old boss was replaced, she just couldn't stand working there anymore. " _Dick Roman lived up to his name._ " Dean remembered her saying when she first showed up a few months back. She was clever, and was fascinating when handed a computer; So Lucifer placed her on front desk. She made appointments, answered the phone and ran errands for the most part; She's fixed a car or two, but always preferred being behind a desk, and Dean didn't blame her.

What made her come to _Morningstar Repairs_ , however, he isn't sure. She didn't really explain why, and Dean never cared enough to ask.

"Sorry, just tired." Dean knew it was a lame excuse, but he didn't really have a better one at the moment, "It's been a long day."

Charlie rolled her eyes before pulling the Winchester into a hug, "Yeah well, no more excuses. It's been a long day for all of us." She muttered, letting him go moments afterward. "We should all go out for a drink Friday," Charlie proposed, looking back at Garth who smiled and nodded. "We never spend time together, and I'm not doing anything Friday-" She waved her hand, taking a step back from Dean and turning her body so she can look at both of the guys evenly. "You guys in?"

"I have nothing to do." Garth piped in, he paused, shoving his hands into his front pockets before shrugging his shoulders almost theatrically, looking up in mock thought. "Well- I have a _few_ things, but _I suppose_ they can be put off." Charlie playfully punched his arm, before looking up at Dean.

"What about you?" Charlie looked up at Dean, who shrugged in response.

"I don't see why not, I just have to see what I'm doing Friday." He answered, and Garth sent him an almost excited look.

Garth was the type of person that was more often than not ignored, which was actually really sad, seeing as he was a really nice and considerate guy. He was the person who was never invited to parties, or taken on dates or even had many friends; Dean knew this when he first met him, you could see the shyness covered up but written all over the mechanics face when you take him up for conversation. Dean actually rather liked Garth, thought he was pretty easy-going and easy to get along with- he's probably the one person he could rely on to get something done if the time were to come, and for him to be there; he was just one of those people.

They didn't typically talk outside of work, unless on the rare occasion of bumping into each other, which didn't normally happen. However, Dean wasn't adverse to spending some time with him and Charlie. Garth looked really excited to be hanging out with people, even if he tried to play off that it wasn't such a big deal, Dean knew otherwise; and it was hard to say no to a man that looked like a rabbit when he was excited about something. He reminded Dean a lot of Sam, but Sam pulled off the puppy-dog look on a higher level.

Dean looked between the two pleading faces before rolling his eyes kind-heartedly, smirking. "I'll think about it."

"Strong maybe?" Charlie raised her eyebrows expectantly, a wide smile on her lips. Dean rolled his head before running a dirty hand through her hair and ruffling it up, receiving a disapproving squeak from Charlie.

"I said I'll _think_ about it," Dean looked between the two of them, "Besides, it's only Wednesday."

"And yet it feels like we've been on the job forever." Garth interjected, sagging his shoulders slightly, "I'd love an outing."

"Me too."

Dean checked his watch before patting Charlie on the shoulder, "Well I've got to get home, I'll talk to you guys tomorrow, alright?"

"Later, bitches." Charlie began sauntering off, shooting him the Vulcan salute and heading towards the back; Dean assumed that she was heading to collect some of her stuff before heading home as well. It was getting really late.

Garth waved his goodbye before heading to join her in the back, and Dean left without another word.

The mechanic became aware of his soreness when he placed his tools in the passengers seat, leaning back out of his car and stretching, trying to get rid of that ache in his body but eventually gave up, mumbling softly to himself as he closed the passenger door and rear around to the drivers seat, sliding in and starting the car up.

Dean drove a simple car, one that him and Lisa had picked out together. A 2005 black Chevy Impala. It wasn't nearly as interesting as the '67 he had back at Bobby's that the old hunter has been fixing up and working on for the past 20 years, but it was something. Dean really wanted to get his hands on that car, but Bobby kept refusing, wouldn't let him touch it, said he wasn't " _Old enough yet-_ " and Dean didn't know when he'd finally reach the age for Bobby to finally trust him with the keys.

The mechanic put the car in gear before beginning the short drive home. He lived about 15 miles away, but the traffic is usually at it's best when coming to and from work, seeing as his hours were different and his schedule was pretty evened out. Dean didn't usually have to deal with traffic, and that was always good. He sat in silence for a little while before putting in a CD; AC/DC played through the speakers with the mechanic shamelessly singing along to his favorite songs as they came on. The drive back was as it always was, uneventful and he just couldn't wait to crawl under the sheets of his bed, and see Lisa and Ben. It was about 11:30 when he had finally pulled into the driveway of his white picket-fenced home, leaving the tools in the passenger seat as he stepped out, shutting off the engine and locking the car before making his way inside.

Most of the lights were off when he entered the house, save for the kitchen light, closing the door behind him. Lisa peeked through the kitchen doorway from down the hall, shifting on her feet before greeting her husband.

"Hey, Dean." Her voice was soft and weary, tired like she had been talking for hours about nothing she cared for. Dean smiled at her, shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders and placing it on the coat-rack beside the door.

"Hey, Lis." He greeted, he started walking towards the kitchen when another head popped out, this time a mans. Dean paused as he made his way into the kitchen, eyeing the man a moment before continuing on.

"Hey," Dean held out his hand for the man to take, who accepting the gesture gracefully, nodding at the other. "My names Dean, Dean Winchester."

"Yes, Lisa told me a bit about you. My names Brady, Tyson Brady." The man named Brady responded, dropping his hand to his side. His voice was a bit rough, but had this soft edge to it like wine and hard liquor. He looked to be a bit younger than Dean himself, but only by a few years from what the Winchester could tell; wearing a fine pressed suit that held snugly around the mans torso. Brady looked like a piece of work, that was for sure, with his hair short and slicked and a damn near replica of Eric Johnson, but with more money.

"What can I do for you?" Dean asked, not entire sure what was happening. Lisa looked completely uncomfortable and wouldn't look him in the eye, and Brady seemed to hold this initial weariness about him as well. Both of them looked uncertain about something, and it should have put off some red-flags in the back of the mechanics mind, but it didn't.

"Dean," Lisa began, and her face suddenly looked very soft, her dark hair fallen onto her face and looking really put-off. Everyone was feeling put-off today, it just wasn't a good day for anybody it seemed. Dean looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to talk, and eventually she looked to Brady before turning her attention back to Dean. "Dean, we need to talk."

"About?" The word feel from his lips slowly, carefully, as if they'd elicit and explosive response. Lisa shot him this sad look, before gesturing towards the kitchen table with a tilt of her head.

"C'mon, you're going to want to sit down."

Something was wrong. Dean could feel it in his chest with the looks the two of them were giving him, they were looking at him as if they pitied him, like he was a child about to be scolded for messing up on a grade, or failing a class and needed the 'family talk'. Dean missed a beat before walking over to the table, following suit. Dean should have seen it coming, how Lisa took the seat beside Brady than beside him; how she wouldn't look him in the eye, sitting directly across from him. How Brady seemed to sit up straighter, his face being controlled and thoughtful. How he was the first to speak.

"Dean, we don't know how to go about telling you this, but we're just going to come out and say it." Brady began, shifting a bit on his seat before folding his hands skeptically on the table, unsure as to where to put them before opening his mouth once again. His mouth hung open a moment, and Dean could hear him take in a soft intake of breath, not really wanting to go on, but sense he started he couldn't stop now. "I'm Ben's biological father."

Dean stared at the man in utter shock for what felt like eternity, unable to move, but simple stare at the man, blinking. Dean didn't know what to say. Okay? Thank's for ditching the kid? Dean practically raised Ben since he was 5 years old; helped teach him right from wrong, how to hunt and fix a car; hell, he was still teaching the kid the basics. He was there for every doctors appointment and parent-teacher conference, he was the one who stayed home when Ben got sick when Lisa had to get to work. He took care of that kid like he was his own, and treated Ben the way Bobby treated him when he was growing up. Bobby may not have been his biological father, but he was still the closest thing he's ever have to it, no matter what- that's what he was to Ben.

Brady shifted uncomfortably under Dean's stare, opening his mouth to continue. "I know this may come as a complete sho-"

"Why are you here?" Dean interrupted, voice hard and questioning. Brady faltered, swallowing thickly but unable to respond, turning to Lisa who looked even smaller than she did a few moments before.

"Dean," She began, hesitating, her voice urging for him to understand a concept that wasn't explained to him. "Dean-" She tired again and stopped, her eyes looking around the room, at everywhere but him, before dropping to look at her hand. "Dean-"

"Dean _what?_ Dammit Lisa! What's going on?" Dean demanded, voice raised but not quite shouting, however Lisa flinched anyways, like the words physically burned her.

Lisa paused again, before starting over.

"I ran into Brady at the market a few weeks back," She began, approaching the topic at a different angle. "I bumped into him trying to buy some burger meat, because I knew how much you love cheeseburgers," She gave off this weak laugh as she spoke, her voice a bit shaky, peering up briefly at Dean before dropping her eyes again.

"Anyways, I was grabbing the meat when I heard my name, and, as luck would have it, Brady's strolling up all high and mighty, and saying hello." She took a breath, "I was shocked to see him, after all these years. We got to talking a bit, and I found out he became a lawyer and had moved into the house a few blocks away." She chuckled softly, "The one you and I were beginning to think would never be occupied, by how long that signs just been sitting there." Another breath, "I brought up Ben, Dean."

"And you were _so sure_ he was the dad?" Dean's voice was incredulous, bewildered even. But Lisa only nodded, still avoiding eye contact.

"I think I'd know the father of my child." Lisa whispered, clearing her throat."

"So, you just run into the guy, have a decent conversation and say ' _Oh, and by the way, you have a kid.'.-"_

"Dean-" Lisa urged his name again, although this time it was softer, even more hesitant than the first time. "I didn't tell him in the store."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows together, mouthing parting slightly as if trying to come up with that to say, and how to say it. He was confused- That didn't make any sense.

"Then when did you-"

"Dean, we've been seeing each other for a few weeks."

Oh. _Oh._

Suddenly a lot of different things made sense. The distance between them, her later schedule she had _insisted_ was due to cut backs. It all made the mechanics gut wrench

" _Lisa-_ " Dean felt his mouth go dry, heart beating wildly in his chest and his arms feeling suddenly very restless. He couldn't sit anymore, couldn't think straight while sitting. The mechanic pushed onto his feet, the chair making an obscenely loud screeching noise as it skidded lightly on the wooden flooring. He felt the others eyes on him but he couldn't look at them as he circled to the other side of the kitchen, hand pressing against his face, scratching underneath his jawline anxiously. Everything felt wrong, like some balance scale had been tipped and Dean felt short of breath.

"Dean-"

" _Don't._ " He snapped back, looking up at Lisa with hard eyes. She was half-way standing when she said his name, shrinking back inside of herself like a turtle afraid to peek through their shell. He was so angry, so furious he could feel it bubbling in his chest and threatening to escape him, like a kettle set on high and ready to be poured.

So many thoughts were pouring through the mechanics head, _'Was I not good enough?' 'Where did we go wrong?' 'How did this happen?' 'Why is this happening-'_ Most of the words becoming jumbled up, and the only thing he could hear properly was _please don't please don't please not now please not Lisa, not her_. And it didn't stop, it wouldn't and Dean knew what was coming; could hear it on the tip of their tongues before they even had to say it.

"Dean," It was Brady who said his name this time, but faltered when Dean looked at him. His eyes were hard, looking at him as if he were an insect in need to be smashed, but Dean wouldn't move forward and do it, he couldn't. He looked back at Lisa, before clearing his throat.

"And what about Ben?" Lisa flinched, "Lisa, I was there since he was five, I can't just ditch him now, not now."

Brady, _fucking Brady_ , had that fucking _gull_ to look concerned, to look offended. The fucker who hadn't even met his son, didn't know he existed until a few weeks ago, maybe not even that, suddenly looks as if he has some goddamn say with what happens with his kid. Just because you're his biological father, doesn't make you his dad.

"You don't have any say about what does or doesn't happen to _my son_."

" _Your_ son!?" Dean almost screamed, stepping forward. "Where the _fuck_ were you when he broke his arm three years ago? Huh? Where were you when he got in trouble at school or when he needed money to go on a field trip? Where the fuck were you when he was struggling in math and needed tutoring? Huh, you _selfish prick_? Where the hell were you all those times he'd gotten himself scrapped up when playing a bit too rough or when he needed family support in the bleachers when he had a game? _Where were you when he needed his dad, huh_?" Dean stepped forward, causing Brady to take a step back. Deans jaw was set, and he couldn't stop, couldn't stop screaming, couldn't stop thinking, his mind racing. "Yeah, I'll tell you where you were you asshole, you were living the fucking high-life and stepping into lives where you weren't wanted and weren't needed.

"I've been here for Ben for 8 years, and 6 of those years I was his dad, I was the closest thing he had to a dad and me and Lisa were the closest thing he had to a real family, and we were small and we had our bumps in the road but we _worked_. Do you know what it's like to be a dad? Do you have any idea how dependent they are on you, how much they look up to you? I've been with Ben for 8 years and I have no intention of just _leaving_. You have a dad, don't you?" Brady didn't respond, "I had a dad, and you know what? He was a damn great dad, I had him ever sense I was four years old, and no- he wasn't biologically my own, but he was as close as he got. Because family don't end in blood, and it sure as hell don't start genetically if those genetics weren't there in the goddamn beginning."

Brady furrowed his eyebrows, as if Dean's message went completely over his head. His voice was stern, and Dean never wanted to tear someone to shreds as much as he wanted to in that very moment. "I suggest you leave and stay out of-"

"Brady." It was Lisa this time, "Don't."

Brady gave her a look, "Whose side are you on?" Dean didn't really know this guy, but he could tell that the dick was completely full of himself.

"I'm on Ben's side." She said, not missing a beat. The tension in her shoulders intensifying but she spoke evenly. "You weren't in Ben's life his entire life, not once. He doesn't know who you are, and it won't make any difference to him that you're his real dad, because Dean's his dad, and has been for several years." She looks back at Dean, her eyes sad, the mechanic couldn't look at her and averted his eyes.

"Dean, just because of this-" She gestured between herself and Brady, "I'm not going to take Ben away from you. He looks up to you," Her shoulders hunched, her face saddened, "I'm doing this because Ben would never forgive me, and he wouldn't believe any story I could ever come up with with you just 'high-tailing it out of here.' He wouldn't believe me, and he'd go looking for you because he loves you." Dean nodded, swallowing thickly.

Everything was quiet, still before Dean dropped his eyes to his feet. "I'll come by later in the week to grab my stuff then."

"We'll talk dates about Ben-" Dean exited the room before she could finish, bolting out of the house and snatching his jacket off of the rack before slamming the door behind him. Dean felt his eyes brimming with tears and wondered where Ben was right then and there- He wasn't home, that was for sure, he would have came down with all the screaming. Dean tried not to think too much about it, getting into his car roughly and slamming the car door shut. He sat there, for only god knows how long before he started up the engine. He didn't know where he was going to go, didn't care.

He wanted to cry and scream and he was so furious he couldn't even see straight, zipping down the road to nowhere. He didn't know where he was going, didn't think about it as he turned corners and tried to even out his breathing. He felt so hurt and wronged, like everything was flipped and upside down and he couldn't help but blame himself. If he had tried harder with Lisa, if he had bought her more flowers- he knew how much she loved getting flowers. He wondered when they had started drifting, and why.

Everything seemed fine, but he didn't see it coming; he missed the signs and he's lost everything.

Dean figured he'd have to call Bobby, come over and stay for a bit until he can save enough money to buy an apartment- However getting situated was the last thing on his mind right now.

Dean had no idea how long he had been driving, having lost track of time and found himself pulling up to his work, most of the cars having gone but two. Everyone else had gone home by now, to where Dean should be, but he wasn't welcome anymore.

The mechanic sat in his car, pushing out and slamming the door shut, shoving his hands into his pockets and entering the building. All the lights were out but a select few, seeing Lucifer as he stepped inside. Lucifer looked up from the front desk and shot Dean a confused smile.

Lucifer was a pretty average guy, a strict boss but pretty easy going if you got to know him. He was a bit shorter than Dean himself, but only just barely, with ashy blond hair and a simple face.

"Hey Dean, what're doing back here? Shouldn't you be home?" He asked, his voice was playful and questioning, pausing a bit when Dean hesitated on answering. He seemed to get the message pretty quick, always being one who could read a person like a book. "Dean, what happened?"

The mechanic merely shook his head, his feet stopping and head ducking. He was holding himself together at this point and Lucifer seemed to catch on really quick, stepping away from the desk and approached Dean, his voice lower and softer. "Dean, is everything alright?" Lucifer got the nickname Satan for a reason, but sometimes Dean forgot how.

"I-I'm fine." God his voice was so shaky, "Me and Lisa-" He paused, not really trusting his voice, "-Someone else."

"Did she take Ben?" Lucifer knows his situation, hell they've talked about their lives over some beer a few times, and it was nice not having to explain everything. But Dean needed to vent, and Lucifer didn't look like he was in any hurry to get anywhere. So he told him, he told him everything. Why? Because he trusted him. Because he had been working underneath Lucifer for so many years, and they're friends; drinking buddies on occasions.

When he had finished talking, they were sitting at the desk Charlie typically worked at. Lucifer was actually sitting on the desk, while Dean was on the chair. He was feeling a bit better getting it off his chest, and Lucifer was more than happy to listen, putting in his two cents here and there. Lucifer opened his mouth to comment on something when someone else walked in, Lucifer turned to look at him and waved him over; Dean recognized him instantly.

"Hey, Cassie." Lucifer greeted, "I was wondering when you'd show."

"Hello Lucifer," He turned to look at the mechanic beside the other, "Hello Dean."

He remembered his name, and Dean couldn't help but think it was the strangest thing.

"You two know each other?" Lucifer asked, glancing between the two of them. Castiel nodded.

"Dean had worked on fixing my car," Castiel answered, "And he did a very good job at it too, my car works smoothly now."

"It better," Lucifer chuckled lightly, "He's one of my best workers."

"How do you guys know each other?" Dean asked after a moment, and Lucifer and Castiel glanced at him.

"Oh, forgot. This is my little brother Castiel," Lucifer introduced, "Cassie here works as a medical assistant at Mercy Hospital, wants to become a healer. Isn't that right Cassie?"

Castiel nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, I've always wanted to help people. This was my one chance to do it." Dean nodded. It was a noble occupation to go into, and if he liked what he was doing, then why not?

"You ready Cassie?" Lucifer said after a moment, and Castiel merely nodded. Lucifer pushed himself off of the desk before stopping, "Dean, if you ever need someplace to stay, you know my homes always open to you, alright? You may be my colleague, but you're my friend first and foremost, alright?" Dean nodded at him, and Castiel looked between them.

"What's wrong?"

Lucifer looked up at his little brother before shaking his head, "Nothing you need to worry yourself about." But Castiel insisted. Lucifer had every intention of dancing around the topic, but Dean didn't see what the point was.

"Me and my wife are splitting up," Dean said after a moment, "I'm just- trying to find a place to stay until I can find a place of my own."

"And Bobby probably has a lot on his plate right now," Lucifer interjected, "He sounded busy- So, you can stay at my place for a bit until you can get yourself on your feet again." Dean was about to decline, not wanting to be a burden when Castiel spoke up.

"Or you can stay with me." The statement sounded more like a question than anything else, and it made his brother and the mechanic shoot him a glance.

"No, Cas'-" Dean started, "You don't have to do that-"

"No, I insist. Besides, Lucifer, you have a lot on your plate right now as well, especially with all the recruiting you've been talking about and with people coming in and out of your house constantly; with meetings and the like. Dean can stay with me." He turned to face the mechanic, "I may not know you that well, but if Lucifer trusts you that much to offer you his home, then I don't see why I can't offer you mine. I don't have anything coming up, and I have plenty of space to share."

"That's right," Lucifer said after a moment, "You've been looking for a roommate for a little while now."

"And I don't see why I have to pass up a good chance when it comes up."

Dean was speechless, "Think of it as repayment for the fine work you did on my car." Castiel said after a moment, "You seem like a decent man, and I'd be happy to help out a friend of my brothers."

Dean looked between the two of them, he was quiet for a bundle of moments before nodding. "Sure, why not."

Lucifer nodded, "Alright, then that's settled. Me and Cassie here were about to head out for Dinner, it's a traditional thing we've always done on Wednesdays, would you like to join us?"

"Yes, and then I can show you the way to my home afterwards so you can get settled." Castiel commented, giving the mechanic a small smile.

The smile made the mechanic feel warm, maybe because it was genuine, and not as distant as the smiles he had been receiving from Lisa. He still hurt, but this could be a good chance to fix things, fix up his life. He nodded to them, making to stand. Lucifer patted Dean on his arm warmly, the three of them walking out of the building when Lucifer shut off the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been procrastinating on making this chapter sense January, but I finally got to it. ^^ Now, here is some hinted Destiel, and more to come (Along with a bit more Dean dealing with the whole Lisa situation in later chapters, but that won't be for a bit I imagine.) More Crobby coming up soon. ^^ I hope you enjoyed. (None of these chapters have been beta-read nor proofread, feel free to call me out when you see something wrong at ANY point in time.)
> 
> I also want to say that this was based off of a event I had personally see happen [Although it didn't happen to me directly]- The dialogue is a bit different, but the reactions and body movements during the time are as accurate as I could make it when Lisa told Dean about Brady, the sounds and reactions are as close as I could get them.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really attempted to beta read this myself, if you see anything, feel free to call me out and yeah-- Same goes with any chapter you notice something that's bothering you. I don't have a beta [I am in search for a new one as of right now-- I'd love the help.] But so far it looks good, and I hope you enjoy.

Bobby scrunched up his nose at the foul and strong scented liquor, closing the bottle and stuffing it away once again, dragging his hands over the glass bottles once more in his pantry as he tried to locate something to drink. He's run out of his normal rotgut and know's he needs to head down to the store soon, but didn't have any real motivations to get up and actually do it; he's been working to all hell to get some of the research done, and had recently got a new side-job in his Salvage yard. Rufus had damn near totaled his truck and needed Bobby to fix it up for him, not to mention he's getting a good pay for his help. Bobby figured he'd get to it that afternoon if he finishes up early in here, but if not he could easily get to it in the morning.

It's been about a week since Crowley had dropped him off from the gathering, and he hadn't heard hind nor tail of the guy since. Bobby tried not to think too much on it, but he wondered if maybe the night hadn't gone all that well than he had thought it did. Maybe he said something to offend him, or bored him or something worse, which might have had something to do with the lack of contact. Bobby insisted it was because the guy was busy, and had actual important stuff to do than contact some hunter he'd only met a few times down the road. Bobby had to keep reminding himself that he wasn't all that special.

He'd recently found out, however, about the Dean and Lisa situation. Dean and him had talked about it, and figured that letting it play out would be for the best and Dean seemed pretty upset about it overall, but he also seemed to be handling things pretty damn well, considering. He wasn't losing Ben, and that was important, but Bobby had no idea outside of that. He told him that his home was always open, but evidently some guy named Cas already had it covered. Bobby didn't pry too much, knowing how Dean could get sometimes, especially when he's distressed or not in his right setting of mind, so he let it drop for the moment at least until he gets to see him again.

Which, now that he thought about it, would be in about a month or so for Christmas. It's a silly tradition him and the boys had, but it was their silly traditions and they chose it keep up with it. It wasn't really much, just that they each came up for a quick little get together to catch up on things they've missed. They could miss birthdays, or thanksgiving, or really any of the other holidays, but Christmas was always really special for their little broken down family. It was always small, but it meant something to them that even though life could rain down on them, that they'd always have family to back them up; even if not that, then to simply support them when they needed it.

Bobby remembers his first Christmas with the boys. Sam was only seven months old, and Dean was about to turn five- they'd only just lost their mother and father a month before in that house fire, it was just a month since they've been brought to his house, and Dean wouldn't say a word. Sam was too young to understand, and they were both so young. Bobby didn't really expect much at his first shot on giving them a decent Christmas, just small things, little toys and action figures that they'd enjoy. Bobby remembered buying Sam these simple colorful toys that he always had in his mouth, but lasted for years; but Dean was a bit harder to budge.

He remembered giving him this Batman action figure, and although he never seemed too excited about it, Bobby would sometimes catch him playing with it in his room when he thought no one was looking. He still didn't talk much, and it took years to truly pull him out of this shell, but he was doing better, and that's really all that mattered at that point. Christmas for the first two years he had the boys were small, and Dean hadn't shown much interest in them until he was six. The boys never really gave him much other than these cards or things they made from school, but Bobby cherished all of them. Once they were a bit older, they had saved up some money from chores they'd offer to do [Bobby never really had the heart to set them up a chore, but the boys insisted to help out around the house; like straightening up or doing the dishes.] Bobby gave them a few dollars spending money, which they'd saved up to get him some new tools for fixing cars.

Needless to say, they're the only ones he'll use.

Christmas was traditional, and the boys came down every year. Bobby never insisted, but they always did. Sam would bring a friend or two, Dean would bring Lisa and Ben, however it seemed like their little tradition might change a bit this year. It was sad, actually, Bobby really did like Lisa, she was good for Dean, she kept him grounded, but sometimes people aren't always as they put out to be.

Bobby huffed to himself, hearing the soft trotting of feet from behind. He turned to look at Rumsfeld as he walked into the room, rubbing his head briefly against the hunters leg before laying down beside the hunter's feet, his heavy body collapsing beside him. Bobby rolled his eyes kindheartedly at the creature before closing the pantry, there wasn't anything to drink; he'd just have to get some later. Patting his leg to signal Rumsfeld to follow, he strolled back into his living room, the rottweiler in tow when he heard his phone go off. The default tone ringing away from where it rested on his desk.

Bobby snatched it up, he wasn't getting a call, but it looks like someone sent him a text. He assumed it was Sam to talk about his new job, because he still has yet to hear anything about it from him. However, opening the message, he was surprised to see who it was from.

_'301 S Phillips Ave -CRM'_

CRM? What the hell- It took a moment for Bobby to figure out those were Crowley's initials, but what did the 'R' stand for? Richard? Bobby figured it was stupid to dwell on it. He sent a quick _'Excuse me?'_ as response, setting down his phone and taking a seat behind his desk. Rumsfeld trotted and moved so he was underneath his the cluttered mess of a desk, curling himself up at the hunters feet and laid there. Bobby leaned down to scratch behind his dogs ear as he set to organizing the endless mess on his table top. He heard his phone go off again.

It was weird, getting texted. He knew he was old, but he shouldn't feel that old. He looked at the message.

_'Meet me there around seven-ish if you're available. If unavailable, come anyways. -CRM'_

Alright Sherlock, the hunter thought sarcastically before shooting him back a text. _'Why?'_

It barely took a moment to get a reply back.

_'Not been a great week, I'd love to have some company. -CRM'_

Bobby found himself looking at that response a bit longer than necessary. It gave him this strange sort of feeling in the pit of his chest that made him feel a bit warm around the edges, but brushed those kinds of things away. Crowley just wanted company- however, that rose the question as to why he's asking Bobby, and not one of his closer colleagues like Meg, or one of those guys with the names that started with an A. It was like Alazlester or something like that, a lot names slipped away from him, but some of them stuck, like Meg, and Ruby- Ruby's name actually rang a few bells, but he could never seem to place it the more he thought about it. Perhaps it was just coincidence.

He looked at the message again and contemplated how to answer. Getting out of the house seemed nice, but he doesn't really know where he'll be going, he'll just know the why. Which also begs the question as to why Crowley was asking him of all people to go. Bobby tried brushing off the nudging feeling of feeling special when it really doesn't call for it- He was thinking too deeply on it. Crowley just wanted company, quit acting like a goddamn prepubescent teenager, Jesus Christ.

_'Sure, don't see why not. Is there something I should bring with me?'_

Once again, the response didn't take much time.

_'Just yourself, love. See you then, tata. -CRM'_

Bobby didn't need to respond to that, although he still had some questions he wanted answered. He set his phone aside and looked at the clock that hung up on his wall- he had a few hours before he supposed he needed to clean up and drive to where ever the hell Crowley asked him to go. He felt a pang of nervousness at the entire ordeal; why was he feeling nervous? Evidently first impressions are out of the equation, because it seems he'd already made one _hell_ of an impression. More has happened in this past month than it has since the fire in 83' because of it. Bobby still hadn't decided on whether this was a good or a bad thing quite yet, but he figured that something a bit different couldn't be all that bad.

The time ticked on by, but for once it didn't seem to be moving too fast, or moving too slow, it just seemed to keep pace with itself; trying to keep himself distracted to ease a bit of the tension he felt in his shoulders. He felt irrationally anxious, but Bobby blew it off as a bit of social nervousness. He had to remind himself that it was just getting out of the house, and he shouldn't feel like he's about to feint because of it. It'll be fine; him and Crowley get along just fine, and the hunter can really start seeing a strange friendship bloom- Perhaps he was worried he'd mess this up, like he does everything else.

Once it got closer to seven, Bobby took a quick shower, cleaning up the ink skins on his hands and any oil spots he might have on his due to working on Rufus's truck earlier that day. Scrubbed out his hair, washed his face along with that; after showering he made quick work of drying up and putting on some clean clothes. He didn't know what was going on so he didn't really want to dress up for something, but in the same since he didn't want to look filthy. He just put on a T-shirt and some jeans and hoped that would suffice. If he had to dress up, he would have hoped the bastard would have given him a better warning.

He walked around his room to get his socks, Rumsfeld trotted in with the hunters shoes in his mouth- however nice the sentiment, they were opposite pairs. Bobby chuckled, scratching the rottweiler on the head and taking the shoes from his mouth. "Thank's, buddy." He commented, and the old boy wagged his tail, taking his seat. He has had Rumsfeld for a long time, a very loyal and smart dog that helped out on hunts every now and again. He was more stay-at-home kind of dog, but so was Bobby, and it just made them a perfect mix. His bound up leg seemed to be healing just fine from the accident last week, and although he's a bit drowsy, Rumsfeld is getting back to his old lazy and grumpy self once again.

Once his socks were on, Bobby walked down the stairs and back into the living room to get the right pair of shoes, sliding them on idly before snatching his keys, and sliding them into his pocket. He had pre-wrote the address Crowley gave to him, having it scrawled messily onto a scrap slip of paper, folding it up and placing it in his front jean pocket.

"Be good," He muttered to Rumsfeld, and even though Bobby knew he couldn't understand English, he still felt as though he still understood what came out of his mouth, as if they had some sort of understanding. "Alright," He cleared his throat, "I'll be back in a little bit." He waved off, before making his way out of his house. The door closed behind him, and he could hear the distant bark of his dog, but ignored it as he walked to his car and started up the engine.

The drive was like a 30 minute nightmare of never being damn sure if that's the right street. He felt like he's made a hundred turns and even backtracked without realizing it, not 100% sure as to where the hell he was going, and just figured he'd play it by ear. The leaves of the tree's were all crisped and falling, the roads covered with them as he drove on by. The closer he got to the actual town the fewer there were on the road, but the tree's didn't look any less dead. He drove past the town and down a lone road with not much to show for it. After about 15 or so minutes he finally reached the city that was nearly detached from Sioux Falls. This was where all the restaurants and actual shops were, a bigger public library and even a few book stores. However the place was as expensive as all hell, so Bobby didn't come down here all too often; avoided it as much as he could, actually.

Most people lived in the section of houses around here, closer to the hospital and main emergency rooms. The houses were nice, but they were always a bit too much. He drove past the large glass building that Crowley worked at, and was heading to the center of the main city. He'd never ventured that far, and he knew he was a bit out of his comfort zone, publicly wise, as he drove further on. He began reading street signs, passing businesses that were flourishing compared to the simple shops near where he lived. He liked the quiet, he'd never get use to being surrounded with so much life.

He finally saw the street sign that had _S Phillips Ave_ on it, and realized he was at this apartment complex system, made up of at least 40 or 50 different buildings. _301_ , that had to be the building number. He drove around a bit before he spotted it. Bobby looked at it with a bit of discomfort, it had to be at least 8 or 9 stories high. This city was huge, and he never really stopped to think about how small all of it made him feel. This was the rich part of Sioux Falls, and Bobby made a point not to think too deeply on the subject. It was simple, and nothing like New York or Chicago, but it was still surprisingly big all on its own.

Bobby reached for his phone to ask Crowley which room he was in, but he didn't feel it in his front pocket. Bobby raised a brow and patted down his front pocket again, before checking his back pockets as well.

_Oh no._

"Goddamn it," Bobby checked a few more times just to make sure he wasn't just imagining things, or if he perhaps didn't pat _hard_ enough, but got the same outcome every time. He checked his car, but his phone wasn't there. Bobby leaned back into his seat, pressing his face into his hands. Well, it's too late to go back now, and he can't just _leave_. It'd be rude as hell and he damn well knew it. Oh _god_ he didn't want to do this.

He had no idea where he was going. Bobby steered himself and eventually parked the car, taking a deep breath and stepping out. He felt like an idiot, how did he forget to bring his phone, he _never_ forgets his phone. He'd been worrying himself senseless that he forgot the one thing that could get him out of a bad situation, not to mention he has no way of knowing where the hell Crowley's room was.

Bobby walked up to the front and, after a moments hesitation, pushed open the door, eyes scanning the relatively large front area, saw a woman behind a desk. Maybe she knew where Crowley lived. Bobby metaphorically crossed his fingers, he really didn't want to have to go door to door to figure out where he was. He walked up to the employee who was looking at the computer screen in front of her, typing away before her eyes flickered up to him. She shot him a wide smile, which looked practiced- naturally forced.

"Hello, sir." She greeted, her voice was chipper and broad, much like her very much forced smile. "What can I do for you?"

Bobby strolled up a bit closer to the desk before clearing his throat, "Uh, yeah, um- Do you know where a Mister Crowley McLeod lives, by any chance?" She simply nodded her head before looking back at the computer and typing in a few things.

"Not off the top of my head, but I sure can find him for you." She said sweetly, before clicking a few more keys. She furrowed her brows a little in concentration, "A Mr. McLeod? Is that M- _a_ -c or just M _c_?" She asked, turning her head to look at him more directly.

"I think it's just M-c." He responded and she nodded, typing a few more things before that forced smile spread on her lips again.

"He's in 66B on the 6th floor," She stated, turning to look at him again, "Will that be all?"

Bobby shook his head, and waved her off, saying a quick thank you for her time before walking over to the nearby elevator, the metallic doors sliding open and closing when he clicked the floor number. He felt it begin to lift when he finally allowed himself to lean against the cool back of the elevator, closing his eyes and pushing out a heavy exhale of air, almost like relief. He felt awkward as hell.

The elevator rose rather slowly, and it really let the hunter reflect on himself as he watched the dial move. He was honestly prepared to go door to door to find Crowley, and the thought of it suddenly startled him. It was really weird, and the entire notion of talking to countless strangers to figure out where Crowley was hadn't even occurred to him as not being the only option; he hadn't even considered there'd be someone at a front desk, or that he could have drove home and snatched his phone, telling him he'd be a bit late rather than go through the embarrassment.

He was so irrationally dead set on being here, he hadn't properly gone through all his options. It was very unlike him to do something like that.

Which also brought up another point, why was Crowley inviting him up to his home? Bobby didn't even think about that when he got here, and just took it as it was.

He was over thinking things.

He just needed to relax, and take a breather. Crowley had said he wasn't having a good week, so he probably invited him over to vent, which was a pretty valid idea. The elevator stopped on the sixth floor, and a woman with a small child holding her hand was waiting at the door. She ignored him entirely as he passed her and went on to where ever she was going; he didn't give her a second glance.

The hallway was very.. modern. If that's the word he's looking for. Simple white walls with at least 10 or 11 doors on either side of the hall spaced out between twos. There was a table placed here and there with something to make the hallway look somewhat decorative, but there wasn't anything outstanding or noteworthy about the place. Realistic paintings of flowers put up here and there in direct parallels with one another. It reminded him of being in a hospital. However the floors had this tan close to the floor carpet, rather than those white and blue tiles that were fairly generic.

Bobby felt out of place, but swallowed it down and began walking through the hallway, he looked at room numbers, counting them out in his head when he finally came across 66B towards the end of the hallway. It should have been as easy as knocking, and it was, but he found himself unable to raise his hand.

 _Jesus, Bobby just knock on the damn door. It's not like he's gonna break it down with an axe and shoot you._ Now Bobby knew he was acting irrationally, and Crowley wasn't going to kill him, at least not in any way that Bobby suspects. He sighed heavily, he knew he as being ridiculous. He raised his hand and knocked, but before he could get his third knock in, he heard the door knob twist.

Crowley stood there, and smiled up at the hunter, "Ah! There you are, I wasn't sure if you were going to come or not." _Bobby you're late as all get out,_ "Come on in," He opened the door wide and stepped aside, letting the hunter walk past him, and finally into his home.

The apartment was much nicer than the hallway, to say the least.

It was a simple place, from what he could tell; The kitchen and the living room seemed to be attached, and only really separated from a counter, but it wasn't small or cramped, it was pretty spacious to be honest. There was a couch facing a wall that had a TV in front of it that was on and playing some documentary, however the volume was on low so he couldn't really tell what was going on. There was a book case filled with movies off to the side of the TV, and a painting above that. The kitchen had a few things on the oven, and Bobby noticed that there was a hallway that went on right passed it, and he could see at least three doors going down it.

The walls were all a creme looking white, and very plain. Everything was organized and put away, and it was very open. There were two windows against the back wall to the left of the TV and couch, and was directly in front of the door. Kitchen to his right. The one thing, however, that he did notice, was the severe lack of personal items. He didn't see any pictures or mail laying around, he didn't see anything that would give this part of the house that touch, other than the painting, but it looks as if it came with the apartment. Maybe he kept all those things in the back room?

He turned to look at Crowley as he was shutting the door behind him. He ordered Bobby to take off his shoes as he made his way back over to the kitchen. Bobby obeyed silently, putting them in the closet as Crowley instructed.

Crowley was barefoot. We'll, sort of, he was wearing these black socks, but no shoes, and Bobby found the sight to be really unnerving, but not necessarily bad. He wasn't even wearing his suit, and Bobby had come to assume that it was actually apart of his skin; no, Crowley was wearing this long sleeved black turtle-neck sweater and some plain kaki's that didn't look nearly as expensive as he dress pants, or ' _causal wear_ ' as Bobby likes to call it, his normally in-place hair was a bit messy and out of place, natural in its own way. If this is what Crowley wore to dress down, he didn't even want to begin to imagine what kinds of clothes he thinks makes him look like a hobo. Probably Bobby's entire wardrobe, but he found no reason to dwell on that for now.

Crowley looked up from what he was doing over at the stove, and it snapped Bobby out of where ever his mind was wandering to. "Come take a seat," He gestured to the chairs along side the counter, they were a ways off the ground and Bobby thought he'd struggle a bit more getting into the seat than he really did.

Crowley had turned back to the stove and was mixing _something_ , and Bobby realized for the first time how truly hungry he was. He didn't think about the fact that Crowley could have been making dinner when he was on his way over here, and he didn't get why the fact lingering longer in his thoughts than it did.

"What are you making?" Bobby asked, resting his arms on the counter top.

"Something I figured you might like," he answered, never turning to look at the hunter as he stirred the pot. He put down the spoon before checking something in the oven, he turned after that to look at the hunter. "It's just a stew of sorts, nothing elaborate. I don't know the last time you've had a home-cooked meal," He shrugged, looking over his shoulder at the food before looking back at the hunter, "Nobody should go that long with just take-out."

Crowley knew about the take out? Well- It was kind of hard to ignore it. His trash can was filled with Chinese food boxes, or take-out from the near by burger joint, and a few other places he didn't care to name at that moment. He felt a little embarrassed, but Crowley didn't seem to be mocking him for his food choices, or scolding him the way he knew Sam would. He just seemed to take it as fact and left it as it was. It was a nice touch, but he felt guilty, as if he had forced Crowley to make him food, or some how convinced him to be a burden. However, Crowley didn't seem to mind, and Bobby had to remind himself that Crowley had chosen to make food before he even knew what was going on. He was being nice and Bobby was over thinking things again. Bobby internally cursed himself, he needed to relax and calm down. It's just food.

Crowley finished making their meal after that, and they started off in relatively average conversation, just normal things, like how the others day was and the weather; it was simple, easy, and idle conversation that Bobby never really realized he had missed in the first place. He was so used to being asked for favors, he was used to pressing and cryptic conversation that he had to decipher and figure out what they're hunting, he was tired of it, actually.

This, this was something he didn't get to do very much.

Crowley took a seat across from him, setting out the food and handing the hunter some silverware as they talked. And all of it was just so _normal._

"-never does as she's told. She acts as if the company would happily bend to her every whim." Crowley muttered bitterly, pulling out a few drinks from his fridge, "Are you more of a Ale or Bourbon kind of person?" Crowley asked, "I have a few brands in here that might catch your fancy."

"Any beer?"

Crowley shot him a look that just dripped exasperated sarcasm, a raised eyebrow that said ' _really?_ ' and Bobby wasn't sure if he should feel embarrassed or offended, so he ended up wading in-between.

"Robert I understand you like your rotgut, but live a little, seriously." Crowley smirked at him, "Something that doesn't taste like oil should spike _something_ of interest." His voice was teasing, however Bobby figured he was half-serious about it. "Now, Ale or Bourbon? I also have some Craig-" He cut himself off, "I have a few things, actually."

"Drinker?" Bobby said lightly, and Crowley grinned faintly to himself.

"Only of the finer drinks, love." He drawled, "And no more drastic than you."

"In that case It'd be _alcoholic_." The hunter chuckled, dodging as Crowley tossed a rag at him.

"Shut up you burly bastard," The man muttered, however the teasing smirk was still on his face, "Now seriously, what would you like to drink?" He turned to look back into his fridge, eyeing down the contents. Bobby had peered inside and was surprised at how clean and organized it was; he shouldn't have been, though. Everything in this place was pretty well put together, along with the man all these things belonged to.

"Whatever you're havin' is fine with me." He answered after a moment, and the other seemed to nod.

"Craig it is." He announced, closing the fridge door. Crowley moved swiftly over his kitchen floor and reached up to one of the top shelves, opening up the cabinet doors and inside had a few assortment of drinks, organized in some way that only Crowley would recognize off that back, snatching out a familiar bottle of amber liquid that Bobby remembers seeing some time before. It was that time that Crowley had insisted that he re-payed Bobby for working on his car; the memory set off to the back of his mind. That was a bit over a year ago, which was crazy to think about.

Crowley pulled out the bottle and closed the door, rummaging through another cabinet and grabbed two clear glasses, he set them on the counter before shifting himself to sit. Bobby took another spoonful of the food Crowley made.

It was really good, to be honest. He hadn't expected Crowley to be such a Martha Stewart in the kitchen when he first met the guy, but then again he never really thought that Crowley would ever make him dinner the first time he met the guy either. It was warm, and spicy, and Crowley was right, it's been a long time since he's had a home cooked meal. He'd make some food every now and again, but it's not like he's some master chef, and he doesn't really know how to make much. Take-out loses it's initial taste after a while and it grows bitter, nearly tasteless. But this, this was good, change was good.

Crowley poured the amber liquid into one of the glasses, sliding the glass over to the hunter as he began filling up his own cup.

Bobby took a sip of his glass before going back to eating his food, "So uh," He said between mouthfuls, "What was it you were saying before? About that secretary?"

"Abaddon?" Crowley answered bitterly, "The little _too-good-to-be-doing-files_ scamp." He brought his glass to his mouth, both hands wrapped around it as he took a small drink. "I wish she'd just quit, we all know she doesn't want to be doing any work for anybody but herself. And there's no chance she's getting Lilith's or, for gods sake _my_ job," Crowley's words dripped almost venomously from his lips, like they burned him, "so she's stuck in her position until she leaves to become a hippie or something."

"I don't think she's out for world peace," Bobby commented, "Sounds like she can't stand you."

"Oh I _know_ she can't stand me," Crowley didn't sound all too put off about that fact, if anything, he sounded smug. "It's not like she can do anything about it, unless she takes matters into her own hands, and by that I mean finally get out of the job. Lilith's had it to her wits end with Abaddon, I don't understand why she doesn't just get rid of her." He set down his glass, "If I were to pull half of what Abaddon does daily, I'd be out of the job."

Bobby hummed in response, finishing up the food in his bowl.

Crowley sighed, "I can handle Abaddon, she's a hassle, but I'm sure she's not something I'd really have to worry about." He chuckled, "It's funny, she has more bark than she does bite as far as I can tell." He twisted his spoon into his bowl, not all that hungry as he probably was when this little thing started. He looked up to see Bobby empty bowl before getting up, grabbing his bowl. "Done?" Bobby nodded, and Crowley began the process of cleaning up.

"I don't know Crowley, she seems to get under your skin."

"She gets under everyone's skin," he elaborated, "It's all she's good at doing."

"Then why's she working there?"

"To be honest, I've no idea." Crowley placed the dirty dishes into his sink as he brushed off the counter, collecting silverware and pots as he cleared them out. "Lilith uses her for things I don't keep track of. She's not in my division, so I don't have access to her files, regardless of my position." He didn't have to say it, but Bobby could tell that the little fact crawled under his skin and festered more than he'd like to admit. Crowley rinsed off a few dishes and attempted to make it look partly presentable before retaking his seat.

He grabbed his Craig once again and took another sip, "What about you, love?" Crowley asked, "What do you do for a career?"

"I used to be a mechanic," Bobby began, looking down at his drink. What he does isn't nearly as refined or interesting as what Crowley does, he doesn't get paid nearly as much, doesn't get the same respect, even if they have been working in the same town for about the same amount of time. "After my wi-" Bobby cleared his throat, " _Karen_ , died, I had sort of shifted into research and doing repairs every now and again for people who need it. It pays well, and I don't have to leave my house that much," He shrugged almost nonchalantly, " It keeps me busy." He answered.

Crowley was quiet a moment, looking over the hunters face. There was a question on his lips but he seemed to take it back and switch it with another after a moment of thought, "What kinds of things do you repair?"

"Car's, usually." He looked up, and found this nearly unreadable expression the the mans face. Like this genuine interest and professional curiosity, and something else Bobby couldn't quite put his finger on. "Really any vehicle, but you already knew that."

"Well of course," Crowley said a tad sarcastically, "But do you fix anything else?"

"I can do every day appliances, but for the most part I work with engines." He thought for a moment, "I've fixed a computer once or twice as well."

"Oh, you're so talented." Crowley mocked, grinning up from his glass of Craig, earning a playful glare from the hunter. He chuckled before going on, "What about your research? What kinds of things do you look up when you're all alone in that big ol' house of yours?" What the hell was he implying. Bobby felt his cheeks heat up, before shaking his head at the man.

"Well it's not _that-_ "

"The tint in your cheeks says otherwise, darling."

He felt even more flustered, but pestered on. "It's animals, Norse mythology, or just mythology in general." He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly really uncomfortable under the others gaze. Crowley perked up at the sound of mythology, and started asking more questions along those lines, abandoning the little suggestive implications behind; Bobby was grateful for it.

The one thing, if Bobby had to pick one, that he really liked about Crowley, was the wide range of topics they could jump from, and how in depth he seemed to know each one. They went on about Mythology and stories for over a good hour before the topic changed to how they feel on certain religious practices or which ones they believed were more efficient, but neither had any real grounds seeing as evidently, neither were very religious. Another thing, if Bobby had to point it out, was that Crowley was an incredible _listener_. Bobby loved the fact that he could talk nonstop for seemingly forever, and Crowley wouldn't _interrupt_. He put in a comment or two, but he'd never deter the conversation away, or change it when Bobby's in the middle of explaining something; not to mention how interested he looked every time Bobby opened his mouth. It made Bobby feel a lot better about thinking that he bored Crowley at that party a week or so ago.

Most people Bobby talked to would go on for hours and hours and wouldn't even let Bobby get his own word in unless they actually needed it. The only time he found people listened was when he was explaining how to do something, or when he say's he'll figure it out or get it done. Besides the boys, he doesn't get a word out socially, he never really did. So having Crowley listen to him with such interest with that he was saying was almost refreshing. It made him feel better about opening his mouth.

They jumped from topic to topic, and it was about 2 in the morning when Crowley had finally noticed the time, feeling rather shocked and confused at how quickly the time seemed to escape him.

"It's really late," He'd said, checking his watch to make sure that was right.

"I should probably get going then-" Bobby made to stand, and Crowley joined him. He grabbed the hunters empty cup, quickly placing it in his sink as he walked Bobby to the door. Bobby snatched his shoes, feeling a slight yawn touch his lips but he fought the urge to go on with it; quickly slipping them on.

"We should do this more," Crowley said as he reached for the door handle, opening it up so Bobby could take his leave. "I do rather enjoy your company."

"Same here," He shuffled his feet until he was standing in the doorway, "Thanks for the food."

"No need, it was my pleasure," Crowley looked down at his feet, shifting a moment before looking back up. "I'll call you up, sometime. Good night."

There was a warm buzz between them, Bobby felt it but shook the feeling from his shoulders. There was no call for thinking like that.

"Night." And with that, Bobby took his leave, the shorter male shutting the door behind him as he left.

He felt good, to say the least. That's the longest he willingly stayed at someones house, and he still felt somewhat reluctant to leave. He never was one for extended social interaction with really anyone, even the boys at times, it just took a lot out of him. But he didn't feel so drained afterwards, if anything he felt a bit refreshed, like he could breath for the first time in a long time. The feeling all on its own was rather unsettling, but it was a start, maybe at some point he'll finally crawl out of this shell he buried himself in.

He didn't think that'd really ever happen, but maybe he'll stick his head out a bit more often.

The drive home subdued a great deal of the buzz from dinner and Bobby was finally feeling the effects of the day wear on him. He watched as the city lights disappeared from beyond his tail lights as he drove on, and it was dark. He made it home a little after 3 in the morning, turning off his car and trudging into the front door of his house; he could hear the clinking of Rumsfeld's chain collar around his neck as he seemed to get up from where ever he was resting, trotting his way to the door to greet Bobby as he made his way inside.

The hunter pulled off his shoes and tossed them to the side, which was a bit of a struggle with Rumsfeld nudging his nose against his legs. He was gone for a good while, but not too long; at least it certainly didn't feel like it. Bobby walked passed his phone and answering machine and headed directly to bed. He has all day tomorrow to work on hunts but right now he was just tired. Sluggishly, he made his way up the steps and trudged his way down the hall and to his bed, only bothering to slide off his belt, tossing it over the side of his bed to deal with in the morning, sliding off his pants before sliding under the covers. Bobby could hear the chair of Rumsfeld's collar as he followed into the room, jumping up onto the end of his bed and collapsing his heavy body.

As the weeks went by Bobby heard more and more from Crowley. The business man would text him randomly through out the day, and sometimes invite him out or ask him these bizarre questions; much of them along the lines of food, but he'd receive the odd ' _Does Poland have an empire_ ' sometimes followed by a ' _never mind, don't answer that._ ' Needless to say, they were definitely something he found he looked forward to. Doing the same thing day in and day out like a record grew dull, even if you really did enjoy what you do [which Bobby can't necessarily say is false] but having that little switch in the day, the weird and sometimes nice messages helped him get through it. He was so used to Sam checking up on him, he was still getting used to the extra eyes.

Not to mention Crowley visited. A lot.

Sometimes in the past few weeks he stopped by after work with a drink, sometimes he wouldn't, but it was more often than not. Bobby knew that he was getting a bit behind on his research, and at one point when Crowley had stopped by he'd even helped out a bit. He was able to get through twice as many things in half the time, and they still had some time to talk and bitch at each other about their day. They've become quite the drinking duo in the past month or so. They've gotten into this backwards little routine, and Bobby was starting to grow accustomed to Crowley just showing up at his house at this point. At one point he had just gotten back from the store and Crowley was already sitting on his couch, texting someone with a book laid open on his lap; it wasn't unpleasant, and they'd just worked around each other.

Sometimes they wouldn't even talk, just read.

Bobby found out really quick how much of a dog person Crowley was; Rumsfeld adored him, and always got really excited every time Crowley came through the door. Bobby would find him curled up beside Crowley on the couch when the man's reading a book, or resting around his feet. It was like he was a totally different person when Crowley was around; he was a lot more laid back, and lazy when it came to Bobby, grumpy but a very loyal dog, which Crowley had the nerve to say they had very similar personalities. But with Crowley, it was like the rottweiler was a puppy all over again; but Bobby wasn't complaining. Crowley had also been caught giving him treats, and again Bobby didn't comment on it.

It was like Crowley really opened up the previously cramped up and stuffy house he lived in, opened up windows and pulled back shades, and at some point even put away some of the books Bobby had laying around. It was the little things that brightened up the house, made it livable again since- well, since Karen died.

Bobby remembered thinking he was some uptight bastard who thought the world revolved around him; he gave off that stuffy _better-than-you_ air when you first meet him, and he still acts like Mr. _High and Mighty_ , but he seemed to have relaxed around him. Like he had more room to talk- and although Bobby hates to admit it, the bastard was really starting to grow on him.

As the temperature outside began to drop, the longer Crowley's stays would get. The snow falling outside had more than once trapped Crowley's car, and they'd have to heat it up enough to get it through the Salvage Yard until he hit the road. Bobby didn't mind the company at all, or the extra hassle.

It was beginning to near Christmas, and he had recently gotten a call from Sam, saying he was bringing a friend of his along, (Insisting it wasn't a girlfriend) and hoped he didn't mind. Not really sure why he'd think he'd mind, it wasn't the first time he'd brought a friend along, but didn't bother fighting the point. He as of yet has heard anything from Dean, and still hadn't gone out shopping to buy them anything for the season. Crowley had offered to help, and Bobby was wondering on whether or not to take him up on his offer, that much he hadn't quite figured out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to really work on their relationship, and you'll see a good deal of that in the next few chapters before we hit plot, and I'm super excited.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chappy yet-- Just over 11,000 words with this one. I hope you enjoy. ^^
> 
> Also, it was lazily beta'd-- I'm going to go over the mistakes myself in a little bit, and it'll have most [hopefully all] mistakes gone by then, so if you see one, I probably have too and I'll get around to fixing it up as soon as I can. I spent since like-- 10 in the morning, till about 10 in the afternoon, almost nonstop, writing this, so I hope it suits you.
> 
> [[EDIT:: I went through it and realized there was a lot of weird sentences that didn't make much sense at some points. Like I had it figured out in my head but didn't write the whole thought down, so I went back through and added on and fixed things here and there.]]

"Hello, Dean."

Castiel's voice startled the other man, causing the mechanic to slam his head against the underside of the interning doctors car, cursing lividly before pulling out from under. "Sam wanted me to inform you to bring extra drinks." Dean rubbed his throbbing forehead with his grease covered hand before pushing himself upright to sit properly.

Dean had been living with Castiel for a little over a month now since Lisa left him for that dick Brady; It's been rough between calls, work, and trying to see Ben whenever he can. Brady hated it, _God_ he fuckin' hated it when Dean talked to Ben, as if he had some goddamn say. He was a deadbeat dad, fucking _Christ_ he wasn't even _that_. Ben had no idea who that fucker was, he left Lisa when he found out she was pregnant, and runs back into the picture when Ben's already been pretty much raised, and didn't have to deal with him being a _little kid_ before pushing Dean out of the picture. Brady wanted that family look, and he had to take it away from Dean in order to have it. The fact that Lisa downright let him was what really ate as Dean, but no amount of reasoning with her was going to change that.

Castiel was good, however. He was a friend Dean didn't think he'd even be able to get after being so cut off from everyone, even before Lisa broke his heart. Dean was never much of a social bug, and he knew that Garth and Charlie tried; but he was just never interested in the gossip, or about the weather. It wasn't their fault; Dean knew he wasn't the easiest person to get along with, or even to talk to at times, but that doesn't mean he didn't try. After a while his friends would give up, and sort of fade off after a bit once they realized there was just no getting anywhere with Dean, but Cas'? He seemed to just _get it_. A silent understanding that Dean wasn't a big talker, and he backed off a lot. Gave him space, and Dean couldn't be more thankful.

"Damn it Cas'-" Dean growled, rubbing his head to try and ease the pain, "You need _bell's._ "

"I don't see how that would-"

Dean waved him off, pushing himself up to stand. "Never mind," He muttered, "And uh, alright. We'll just head down to the store before we leave in a couple of hours. It's still pretty early." After he had said that, he looked down at his watch to confirm just that.

"I'm gonna wash up," The mechanic stated, tossing his filthy grease rag onto the floor to deal with later. "Your car looks fine and should run smoothly to and from Bobby's- Finish what you have to do and then we'll get going. Alright?" Cas' nodded, turning and stepping out of the garage and into his house from the inside door, the screen door making a loud metallic slamming sound as he retreated inside. Dean watched him go a moment before turning back to the car, wiping his hands on his jeans before slamming down the hood.

They were heading to Bobby's for the Christmas get-together they held every year. It's always small, but it's important; Sam is usually the one who call's up Bobby to make sure everything's still going as planned, but this year when he hadn't heard anything from either one of them, he made sure to call them up to make sure everything was still going down. Sam's been so busy with his new job, he'd forgotten, and Bobby had been working like crazy; not to mention he found out that he's got a new friend.

Needless to say, Dean was a bit excited about this one. Lisa and Ben weren't going to be there; Brady had suggested they go to his parents or wherever when he found out that Dean intended on taking Ben for the day. Cas' told him not to get into it, and to just let it go. Fighting wasn't going to change anything and he knew the guy was right, so he dropped it, for the moment.

This was also the first time in a long time that Sam's bringing a friend, although he still doesn't know the guys name, it looked like it was going to be more of a full house this year.

Sam was bringing snacks and movies along with his buddy, Dean had planned on bringing a couple snacks as well and now he's got the drinks. Cas helped pick out a few strange snacks for them to eat, and even called up Bobby personally to see if it was alright that he was coming along; Bobby of course didn't mind, and those two sat on the phone talking for hours, much to Dean's displeasure. Bobby said he had two people coming over himself, one of them was helping clean things up and the other was bringing in the presents. Dean and Cas' already have everything picked out for everyone, and just needed to know how many people were going to be there. It was going to be a good year; Dean was honestly surprised that Cas' wanted to help so much, he really was a great friend.

Much more than Dean could ever ask for.

The mechanic stepped up to the door that Cas' disappeared behind, stepping inside and pulling off his shoes. The house he lived in was a bit smaller than what him and Lisa lived in, but if anything else it was far nicer, much more put together and straightened. From where he enters he'd find himself standing in the kitchen; It was very open with a cabinet's lining the wall's, a clean white tiled counter pressed up under them. A basic fridge and microwave against the wall, along with a table with four wooden chairs on each side in the center of the room, closer to the door way.

The door way led to the living room, which had a decent couch pressed against the wall with a average sized TV sitting across from it, pressed off to the side of a window. The living room led to the front door, and the front door was directly across from the upstairs, where there were two bedrooms, one of which was a guest room that he was currently residing in, a bathroom, and a large closet. The entire place was incredibly nice and spacious, and was filled with a great deal of personal items.

Cas' didn't come off as being so religious, but his house said otherwise. There were a few crosses placed here and there, a statue of Buddha and various other religious figures from Greek and Roman mythology, even Norse. There were pictures hung here and there of his brothers, but none of them had his parents, which Dean found to be very strange. He'd lost his parents when he was around four years old, and he still carried around a picture of his Mom that way he didn't forget her face.

Castiel was in the kitchen when he walked in, he was setting up the snacks and trying to bag them as best he could without using too many bags. Seeing as it was so cold outside, he was wearing a light and dark blue turtle-neck sweater along with a pair of jeans. It was a bit weird seeing him outside of his suit that he never seemed to take off, including his dirty trench coat. He was either getting reading for work, at work, or just coming back from work before he goes to sleep. Dean's noticed the severe lack of free time Castiel has, but when he does he dresses down, which isn't often enough.

Castiel turned to look at him, shooting him a polite smile, waving him to go get ready. "We leave in a few hours, hurry up and get clean." Cas' pulled all the bags together and set them onto the side of the counter, "I'll be right back, I'm going to get the rest of the drinks."

"Alright, be quick, I won't take long." He pat the dark haired mans shoulder as he passed by, rushing up the stairs and quickly stripping from his clothes.

Cas' was already back by the time Dean was drying off, the only reason he knew that is because they ran into each other before Dean was able to get to his room to dress. The towel nearly slipped from the mechanics hands when they collided, both of them lost in their own world when it happened. Cas' was able to snatch his footing before they toppled over, hands gripping the mechanics arms tightly, trying to steady.

"I'm sorry Dean," Castiel apologized, hands still clutching the dirty blondes arms. Dean was too flustered to respond properly, brushing the man off of him and waving him off as best he could without Cas' calling out how red he got. Cas' watched him rush off to his room, feeling sheepish and a little embarrassed.

Dean slammed the door behind him, cursing under his breath and tossing the already falling towel from his hips onto the ground. His cheeks were beet red and he could damn well feel it spreading from his chest, up his neck and manifesting in his cheeks. It's not like his towel actually _fell_ so that was always a plus, but that didn't exactly stop his heart from pumping wildly in his chest. He doesn't know why it's really getting to him; Sam's seen him this way, a few of his buddies from when he was in high school had seen him completely naked before and it didn't bother him as much as this did.

Maybe it was because he didn't know Cas' all that well? Well, that couldn't be it, because he's met a a few people who he barely knows who's seen him in a lot less. He was over exaggerating, he was probably tired, and Cas' just scared him is all. That's it.

Dean let out a tired puff of air, brushing his fingers through his hair and ruffling out some of the water clinging to the strands. He dressed easily enough, tossing on a fresh pair of boxers, a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Snatching his grey hoodie, he slid it on before grabbing a pair of socks. The mechanic sauntered downstairs after dressing, grabbing his shoes from the side of the door and slid on his jacket before meeting Castiel in the kitchen. He felt a slight flush reach his cheeks, but he brushed it off from the cold. Cas' had his filthy trench coat on, holding as many bags as he could; Dean grabbed the rest and snatched up the two packs of bottled beer that Cas' just bought, finally heading off to the car once they gave the house a quick once over.

Dean made his way to the trunk of the car, placing the bags inside beside the already placed and wrapped presents. Cas' picked out the wrapping paper he though would suit them all well, not entirely sure who all was going to be there, so he made each present as gender neutral as he could. Dean had actually gotten something for Cas', which was in his coat pocket, not wanting his friend to know until later on tonight. It wasn't much, but he thought the guy deserved it for taking him in when he had no reason to.

"I'll drive," Dean announced, sliding passed the angel of a man and lifted up his hand to catch the keys Cas' tossed his way, slamming the trunk shut before sliding into his own seat. Bobby lived a few hours away, so this was going to be a bit of a long drive.

Castiel got into his seat, buckling up and adjusting his coat as Dean pulled out of the driveway.

_oxo_

"Sammich hurry up! We're gonna be late!" A voice called from down the stairs, Sam peeked his head from the bathroom door, brushing through his long hair with his fingers, trying to straighten it out. Gabriel was waiting at the base of the stairs, waving him along as he swiftly moved his way into the kitchen.

"Hold on, hold on, I'm coming." The moose of a man chuckled, trotting down the stairs two at a time; tugging at the sleeves of his jacket that rested on his shoulders, trying to straighten it out as best he could. Gabriel had the snacks piled together, along with a few large bowls stacked together to place some of the candies out when they get to Bobby's. Sam was going to grab the presents from the living room and stuff them in the backseat when they get going. "Do we got everything?"

"Everything but a condom." Gabriel wiggled his eyes at the other, who shot him his best bitch-face he could manage while trying not to smile.

"We're not going to need a condom." Sam responded easily, stepping up to the shorter man. Gabe wrapped his arms around the taller mans middle, grinning up at him cheekily until Sam leaned down and pressed a kiss against the side of his mouth; Much to Gabe's disappointment.

"Give me a real kiss, or I'll fire you." The shorter man smirked, going up on his toes to try and reach better.

Sam rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around his boss's shoulders and leaning in for a proper kiss, lips brushing and colliding against each other, mashing together for the briefest of moments before they parted, faces moving only inches apart, Gabriel's eyes fluttering open to look at the larger man. Grinning up at him before letting his arms fall from around the beast of a man, thumbs hooking against the loops of Sam's jeans who finally let his own arms drop to his sides.

"Do I get to keep my job?" Sam asked, almost amused. Gabe looked off to the side, mocking thought; He pressed his lips together in a tight line, raising one brow as if he was actually deciding what to do now.

"Oh I don't know Sammy," He grinned up at the other, "Sleeping with the boss doesn't look too good on your resume," Softly ticking his tongue against the back of his teeth, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go."

"Oh, whatever am I supposed to do." Sam's voice was dripping in playful sarcasm, dipping his head back down and pressing another kiss against his lovers lips.

There situation was a spur of the moment kind of thing; It was a mid-year office party he'd been invited to a few weeks prior. Gabriel had invited him to tag along, even when Sam originally had no intention of going. He hadn't been in the company for that long and didn't think he deserved to go to something so important. Gabriel had told him about the main banquet at headquarters where the CEO worked at, and the branches were supposed to do something similar before sitting down and watching the CEO herself announcing the bigger changes in managements and promotions.

They'd all gone into the conference room, three of them were filled with everyone in the building as Lilith, the CEO, spoke. He sat up front beside Gabriel, and felt his arm get squeezed rather roughly when she announced that some guy named Crowley was getting promoted to Co-CEO, or as Gabe called it, King of the Crossroads. After the announcements were over and Gabriel had a few of his own to give, he told him about who Crowley was and why he got so excited.

Crowley had evidently given Gabriel the job he has now, doing the same thing for him as he did for Sam. The two of them left before the party was over, heading off to a nearby bar to wind down a bit from all the excitement, Gabriel was buzzing the whole time, he was so excited for Crowley and couldn't wait to tell him so, but he hadn't gotten a chance to get a hold of him for a while.

They ordered their drinks and Gabriel was talking excitedly the entire time, about how he used to work as a two-bit secretary, sending messages around the office of a rather dead business, and he spoke about how they had very few clients, but Crowley would always show up. He'd just come in every single day, and talk to Gabriel for about an hour and leave on the dot every single time. One week he didn't show up at all, and Gabriel expressed how disappointed he was; it was extremely boring all day, and looked forward to getting to talk to Crowley when he could.

His issue at home was pretty messed up, his brothers would fight constantly and his dad was pretty dead beat, and he enjoyed the boring on occasions, it was nice for a change, but after a while it wasn't enough for him.

He had been doing his filing when Crowley sauntered back in, briefcase in hand, much like Gabriel had for him, and offered him a place in Purgatory Placements. He lifted his whole life around, and was able to actually help Gabe move away from the disaster at home and get his own place, he helped start him out and eventually was able to give him a branch to take care of while he works for the central power. Gabriel owed him everything; This Crowley character certainly sounded like he deserved that spot as Co-CEO.

Well, as they were talking and Gabriel was going on and on about everything him and Crowley had done, things about the office and just trying to catch Sam up with a great deal, the downed every drink passed their way. Hours had flown by and it was getting late, they were both tipsy and more or less drunk and most of the rest of the night was a huge blur, but morning came and they were both wrapped around each other, barely clothed or covered and woke up in a bit of a shock.

Sam had expected Gabriel to kick him out of the bed and to fire him, but that's not what happened.

What happened is that Gabe grabbed the covers that were tangled at their feet, and covered both of them up. He told him to go back to bed.

Sam had awoken later on to find Gabriel missing from his side and the smell of pancakes in the air, and that's how he knew that whatever happened the night before wouldn't be the last time.

Week's later, and they were still kissing in the middle of Gabriel's kitchen floor.

They finally parted a moment, glancing at the time before cursing under his breath. Sam shot Gabriel a look, "We're going to be late." He muttered, squeezing his lovers arm before rushing to the living room, snatching up the bags and boxes of wrapped presents, shutting off some of the lights as best as he could before heading out to the car, Gabriel a few feet behind him with some of the snacks still in hand, dropping the loads into the back seat. When Sam was bent over, he felt a hand connect with his rear in a loud slap, causing him to jerk and slam his head against the top of the car.

"Ow, you dick!" Sam hissed, ducking his head out of the car and straightening his back, placing a hand on his head where he slammed against the roof of the car.

"Let me kiss it and make it better." He snickered, going up on his toes to try and reach him but Sam brushed him off.

"We don't have time, we've got to go." Sam handed him the keys as he rounded the car, ducking into the passenger seat with Gabriel in tow, dropping into the drivers seat and starting up the engine.

_oxo_

There was a loud and abrupt knock on the hunters door, the sound was crisp and pristine and that in itself told Bobby it wasn't the Boy's nor was it Crowley. Neither one of them knocked anymore. The hunter put away a few more books, checking the time- nobodies supposed to be here for another few hours by the looks of it. Shrugging, he made his way to the door, pulling it open only to have a nicely wrapped present hoisted in front of his face.

"Merry Christmas, kitten." Came the barely chipper and nearly sarcastic greeting, and if Bobby didn't know any better the tone would have been borderline on bitter. Bobby tilted his head at her, shooting her a smile. She was wearing a heavy coat, hair peppered in snow flakes as they began to slowly melt from the heat of her skin and the heat coming from the house.

"Glad you could come, Meg." He responded, opening the door wider so she could come in. Rumsfeld instantly came trotting up to her to greet the newcomer, whom in response reached down and idly scratched behind his ear as he made her way inside. She looked around the house, nodding a bit appreciatively before turning to face the hunter.

"Not bad old man," She commented, "It's definitely a lot cleaner than when I've last seen it."

"Yeah, well I'm actually expecting guests this time," He replied, closing the door behind her. "Make yourself at home."

She looked down at the present in her hands, muttering a soft ' _oh_ ' before handing it over. "I got you and the Boss something," She had another present on her arm, hanging there before handing it over as well. "I wasn't sure who else was going to be here, or what. So I just did you two, will that be a problem?"

"Of course not," He took both of them from her, leading her into the main living room, setting them on his recently cleared off desk.

"You're a bit early, so I hadn't gotten around to setting the place up. Just cleaned it." He told her, gesturing to the room. And he really did clean the place up. It took him all morning; All the books were put away, all papers that were scattered are now shoved in a folder somewhere in his desk, he straightened up the phones and unplugged them to prevent getting any calls for the day. Everything was away, and he even swept the floors a bit. All the trash was in the trash, which he'd taken out a little bit ago. Crowley had come over the day before and helped do the dishes and straighten up a bit before he had to go home; thank's to him, his kitchen looked a hell of a lot better.

Bobby turned, seeing Meg shrugging her winter coat off of her shoulders, and Bobby took it from her; quickly walking over to the coat rack by the door and placing it there.

"Everybody's going to be here in a few hours," Meg commented, leaning against his desk, "Mind if I help set the place up?"

Bobby nodded, "By all means." He gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen, where he had a few boxes set up on his dinner table; already opened with a few things laid out. There were tinsel and ornaments inside, along with some lights.

"I see the decorations, but I don't see a tree." She looked up at him, and he shrugged.

"I couldn't get one this year." He sighed, "Everywhere I went they just didn't have anymore."

Meg pushed her tongue between her teeth, squinting at him before nodding. "I think I might have an idea," Pulling out the tinsel and some ornaments, she ordered Bobby to head outside and find some sticks in his yard, moving around the kitchen as if she were looking for something, pulling open cabinet after cabinet. Bobby obeyed, quickly pulling on his snow boots and his coat before trudging out in the heavy snow, at least a single foot off of the ground. Bobby moved towards the back where most of the forest was, the tree's taking a lot of the snow and covering a great deal underneath them. He was able to collect a few broken branches and sticks that he thought she would probably be looking for, brushing off the snow quickly layering on his coat as he made his way back inside.

The warmth felt great against his face when he first got back inside, Meg rushed over and snatched the sticks from him before moving back into the kitchen. Kicking off his boots once again, he pulled back off his coat, placing it on the rack besides Meg's coat before heading to see what the hell she was doing.

Meg had found a jar with a missing cap, grabbing some rubber bands she must have found in one of his drawers, tying the frayed bottoms together with the tops with little branches of their own sticking out. She grabbed a small bag, which looked like Bobby's rocksalts and poured a little bit into the jar; She must have ran down into the basement when he was outside. She shoved the sticks inside of the jar and filled it the rest of the way with rocksalts to keep them in place.

Bobby stepped up, looking at the work of art appreciatively, "This'll work." He muttered, grabbing the tinsel, and with a little help, cut it a bit smaller and wrapped it around the small tree; Meg placed little ornaments here and there periodically before snatching up the cool glass of the jar. Carefully, she took it into the living room, where Bobby pointed out the place beside the couch, there was a coffee table beside it and they ended up placing it there; standing back to admire their work.

"You know what it's missing?" Meg said offhandedly, stepping over to the hunters desk and grabbing the two presents she brought, sticking them under the tree. "Now, that's a Christmas tree."

They glanced at each other and abruptly burst into laughter. Meg covered her mouth as she almost keeled over, Bobby had to place a hand on her shoulder or he certainly would have. Meg snorted in her laughter, trying to breathe, fanning a hand about her face and attempting to calm down, leaning against his side as the laughter started to die down.

"That's the most pathetic tree I've ever seen," Meg laughed, brushing back her hair, "Everyone's going to get a kick out of that." Her cheeks were tinted red from laughing so hard, smiling broadly she patted Bobby's arm and stepped away and back into the kitchen, still chuckling to herself. She cleared her throat, taking a deep breath before pulling out the rest of the tinsel, "Now, what are we supposed to do with all this?"

Meg and Bobby spent the rest of the hours they had decorating the place, keeping it simple but spot out all the same. Tinsel was wrapped around the backs of chairs and around tables. Meg had gone off and placed as many ornaments around as she could and still make it look as if adults fixed the place up. It took them about an hour to find tape, and even longer to find enough pins to stick up the lights around the main room they were going to be in; there was plenty extra that lined the stairs, and even around the top of the kitchen. They set out a clean table cloth they found wrapped up in Bobby's basement and placed it on the dinner table, setting up the snacks on the counter. Crowley was going to be the one to show up with dinner, so he didn't bother making any this year. Crowley also had the presents with him, so when he got there he was going to need help getting everything out of the car.

They sat around for an hour after everything was set, talking for a bit with a beer in their hands when they heard a car finally pull up back. Meg was the first to stand at the sound, Bobby on her heels and pulled open the door to welcome the two in. It was Dean.

Dean had his hands full of presents, Meg snatching a couple to help ease some of the weight and made her way back to the little fixed up tree and set them under, Bobby grabbed the rest of the presents, handing them to her as she got back and helped take off Dean's coat, a shorter man a few feet behind him was also carrying some bags, and it only took a moment for Meg to notice.

Meg walked up and took those bags as well, setting them on the counter and began setting things up.

"It's good to see you boy," Bobby smiled, Dean grinning back and pulling him into a bear hug, letting go with a firm pat on the arm, turning his attention to the dark haired man standing a bit awkwardly behind Dean.

"You must be Cas'." Bobby reached out a hand and Cas accepted it, shaking firmly. "It's good to meet you," He greeted, "Now take off your coat, make yourself at home." Castiel turned to look over at Dean before nodding, shrugging it off of his shoulders, however, he wasn't sure what to do with it. Bobby let out a puff of air and took it from him, leading them out of the kitchen. Bobby made his way to the front where the coat rack was and placed them there.

Dean looked over at Meg as she was setting out the snacks, Bobby walking back in after a moment and joined her, grabbing out the chips and pulling the beers out of the packaging, moving to place them in the fridge to cool. Dean looked Meg up and down curiously, but the gesture didn't go unnoticed. She felt the eyes on her back and turned to look at Dean, raising a brow and stepping forward, reaching out her hand.

"I don't think we've met pretty boy," She smirked, Dean grabbed her hand and shook it. "I'm Meg."

"I'm Dean. It's good to meet you." He responded, dropping his hand back to his side, glancing to his right, he stepped aside so Cas' could shake her hand too.

"And I'm Castiel."

"Castiel?" Her hand paused while shaking his, tilting her head downward and looking up at him. "What a strange name. It's nice, but strange. Was daddy a god fearing man, or was it just coincidence?" Cas shot her a strange look, but nodded in agreement. Meg smiled at that, "Figured as much."

"So who are you?" Dean asked, watching as Meg dropped Cas' hand from the corner of his eyes. Bobby turned back from the fridge, closing it as he went. "Are you Bobby's girlfriend or something?"

Bobby furrowed his eyebrows incredulously at Dean, but before he could retort Meg spoke up.

"Wouldn't I be so lucky?" She grinned, although the expression looked more smug than anything else, "But he's already got himself a nice little unicorn." Dean raises his eyebrows as Bobby, a grin already evident as it's pushing up the sides of his lips.

"Really now?" Bobby rolls his eyes, brushing them off with a swift gesture of the hand and walked into the Living room, the three of them walking up behind him. "C'mon Bobby, who's the lucky girl?" Dean pestered, "Are we going to meet her- do you plan on introducing us to her?"

"There is no damn _unicorn_. Shut up Meg, don't give them any ideas." Meg scoffed playfully, raising her hands in mock defeat, taking her seat on the couches armrest and crossing her arms across her chest, "Now, Cas'" He turned his attention to the rather bashful and out of place looking man, trying to find a decent subject changer. "Would you like something to drink? Something to eat?"

"Talking about food, what's for Dinner?" Dean prompted, and Bobby just shrugged.

"A buddy of mine is bringing the food, he'll be here later. Say's it ' _takes time_ ' to make good food, so hold your horses." Bobby responded evenly, "he'll get here a little after Sam I suspect," Checking his watch; speaking of which, he imagined he'd be here soon. "We're going to open presents after we all eat and buzz out for the most part."

They talked for a little bit, snacking just barely; they were all really hungry, having avoided food before they came over. That way they had more room in their stomachs to actually finish what they were going to have. Again, it was a tradition thing that Dean had convinced Cas' to do with him, and Meg didn't exactly look the type who ate breakfast every morning if she could help it; like she'd rather scarf down on dinner and snack during the day anyways.

Dean talked about the whole Lisa situation, catching Bobby up to track and informing Meg entirely. They were mostly quiet as he explained when he first found out, having been unable to elucidate over the phone to his father figure. He told what exactly went down and how it played off, to when he moved in with Castiel.

"-and here I am." He finished, taking a quick swig of his beer before settling back into the couch beside Cas'.

"So let me get this straight," Meg started, all eyes that were on Dean shifted to her. "This Lisa has been married to you some odd number years, and drop's you because her son's daddy's back in the picture?" She raised a brow, "Doesn't that seem oddly-" She waved her hand idly, trying to find her words, "I don't know, convenient?" She looked from Dean to Bobby then back again, "You seem like a decent guy, and a pretty good husband from the sound of it, and she just dropped you like that?" Meg took a quick sip of her beer. "I don't know what she's like, but that sounded pretty staged if you ask me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, had this Lisa character ever mentioned a _Brady_ before?" Dean thought a moment before shaking his head. "Well, didn't you think she didn't know who the biological father was?" Dean paused. "Bingo, sport. You're catching on."

"You mean to say that Lisa-" Castiel started.

"Cheated on lovely bones over there and staged it to make it seem as if Brady was Ben's real papa," Meg nodded to the three of them.

"Why would she do that?" Dean demanded, although his voice sounded smaller than it did before.

"Because I think she still cared enough to not want you to think any less about yourself." She answered, "She could have easily been sleeping with him for a while and they came up with some elaborate story so she can keep the kid and get the guy while pushing you out of the picture. Getting you out of the grands scheme of things." Meg chewed her lower lip, "And this Brady guy went along with it because he wanted that family. To be honest I don't even think she has the slightest idea as to who knocked her up."

Dean was quiet for a long moment, chewing on his words.

"Hey, but in the same sense, I don't know for sure. The dickwad could just as easily be Ben's father, but chin up kiddo, at least he's not his Dad." Dean looked up at her, "Nobody can take that title from you. How long were you raising that kid?"

"8 years." Dean cleared his throat.

Meg raised her glass, "You were his dad 8 years, and where was he? No where to be found. So even if he was the kids parent, he missed out on so much he'll never be able to get back."

Dean looked at her a moment before sighing. "Hey, chin up." Meg said softly, "She kicked out a great guy for some funky looking child, you don't need that kind of negativity in your life, alright? You can find some other fairy tale someplace else and be just as happy if not more so." Dean smiled slightly up at her, who in response raised her glass. "To fairy tales."

"And happily ever after's." Dean joined in, raising his own glass. Bobby and Cas close behind.

There was a sound of a car coming up into the Salvage Yard, and Bobby imagined it was Sam and his friend. Pushing up from the side of the desk he was leaning on, he set down his drink and walked over, hearing the knock a few moments later. Dean jumped up as well to greet his brother as he pushed through the door, covered in snow and holding a bunch of presents in his arms, a much shorter man sauntering in behind him; he had to be at least two feet shorter than him.

Meg jumped up afterwards and helped snatch the bags and presents, setting the finely wrapped gifts under the already filled tiny tree, putting the food away. Bobby gave Sam one of his bear hugs, and was quickly introduced to his friend, Gabriel. However the name rung a bell to the interning doctor sitting in the other room, furrowing his eyebrows together and shuffling his way into the kitchen when he saw him.

"Gabriel?" He questioned, his voice a little louder due to the commotion of there being more people in such a cramped space. The short brunet's head snapped up at the voice, eyes darting over to Castiel when he heard his name. The shock subsided and a smile began to form on his face.

"Cassie? Is that you?" Gabe tossed off his coat onto Sam, who only barely caught it as he rushed forward and pulled Castiel in a big hug, who reciprocated the gesture, wrapping his arms around the man and burying his face against the shorter mans neck a moment before pulling back, even thought their hands still clung to the others arms.

"It's so good to see you, It's been so long." Gabriel nearly exclaimed, catching the eyes of everyone else in the room.

"What? You know each other?" Dean spoke up, Sam right behind him.

Gabriel turned to stand by Castiel's side, but he still had an arm wrapped around his shoulder, smiling all the same. "Yeah, this is my little bro, Cassie."

"And this is Gabriel, my older brother." Gabe rolled his eyes, scoffing.

"Always so formal." Gripping his shoulder tightly, shaking him a moment, "Lighten up! This is festive!" Castiel's facade broke, if only just slightly, smiling at his brother. He turned to look at his brother face on at this point. "So, how's everything at home?"

Castiel paused a moment before answering, "The last time I was there Michael was starting up again, but this time with Raphael."

"Did Luci get out?" Gabe asked, the joy from earlier was still there, but it sounded softer, a little more masked. Castiel nodded, if only but faintly.

"Lucifer, Balthazar, and myself were able to leave." Cas' answered, "After you, Lucifer couldn't handle it anymore and left a few months after, he took me with him." Gabriel crossed his arms as he listened, a puff of relieved air escaped his lips at the thought. "Balthazar ran off a few days later, he contacted us and told Lucifer and I where he was, and what he was doing. I still have his number if you're interested in talking to him-" Gabriel waved it off.

"I'll get it later." He amended, "Have you heard anything from Mike?" Cas shook his head.

"Not since Lucifer and I left."

"Well, what are you two doing?" Gabriel smiled, the tension that must have been in his shoulders relaxed a bit, along with the ones in Cas' body.

"We bought an apartment together right after we ran; He worked at Morningstar Repairs to keep up going, because I was still too young to work." Castiel started; Bobby waved them to move it into the Living room so they all could listen in. Cas' nodded and the two of them took a seat on the couch, Dean on one side of Cas while Gabe was on the other; Meg took her spot on the wooden chair she was sitting on before, resting on it backwards as she listened in, Bobby took his spot leaning against his desk and Sam took his seat on the couches armrest.

"-Lucifer helped me finish school, paid for everything until I could get a job and a place of my own." Cas' continued, eyes glancing around all the faces in the room. "He's helping put me through college right now," his hands twitched a bit, fumbling against each other in thought, "we're both working so I can finally get my degree as an MD, but as of right now I'm working as an intern and still going up that corporal ladder."

"How much longer until you think you'll get to be ol' Doctor Sexy, eh?" Gabe grinned, and Cas' chuckled.

"Not for a few more years, but I'm getting there." He looked over at Dean, "Right now Dean's living with me, and helping me pay the bills as well." He turned to look at Gabe who was sporting a rather knowing look.

"Is that so?" Gabriel snickered, glancing between the two of them. "How'd you two love birds meet?"

Dean sputtered, and Cas' waved his hands as if to quiet him down. "No- It's not like that." Castiel tried to amend. "His wife just left him, he had no place left to go."

"Oh," Gabriel chewed the inside of his cheek before putting his hands up in that universal sign of apology. "My mistake." He glanced over at Dean, "I'm sorry to hear about that, kiddo."

"Don't be." Dean said after a moment, "We had actually met while I was on the job; I work under Lucifer at Morningstar, and he had come in needing his car fixed. I helped him out a bit, and after the entire thing with Lisa-" Gabriel mouthed her name, but never said a word, "I drove back to work and when Lucifer offered me a place to stay, Cas' jumped in and gave one to me instead."

Gabriel hummed, "So you know three of the misfit six, huh?" Dean blinked at him and he rolled his eyes. "Three. You've met me, Cassie, and Luci. Be glad you haven't met the big brothers." He shuddered as if to get his point across. "They're as unpleasant as it gets."

"So whose the oldest?" Bobby chimed in, "Who all is there?"

"Michael is the oldest," Gabriel started, turning in his seat a bit to face the old hunter, "Then there's Raphael, then Lucifer, then me, then Balthazar, and lastly Cassie over here." He smiled at his little brother. "Most of us turned out alright, but Michael had always caused problems. Resented all of us. Lucifer stood by us constantly and went against dad's orders in order to keep us safe against Mikey." Gabriel frowned, "He could manipulate dad like no other, and it could be..- it could get real bad. Both him and Raphael were real _dick_ -tators."

"Why did Lucifer stand up to them?" Sam asked, receiving a smile from the other.

"Because for a long time it was just him being the youngest before I finally came along, they tormented and tortured him. They were real shitty brothers, but Lucifer never took it out on us." Gabriel said almost thoughtfully, "He looked after us because dad was a dead-beat drunk, but for the most part most of us turned out alright-" He shifted himself looking back at Cas. "It really is good to see you again, make sure that before we leave that you give me your number and Lucifer's, and make sure he has mine." He made a thoughtful expression, but it looked more forced than anything. "I miss the dick." They both shared a mutual laugh, which was mostly just exhaling more air than per usualy, before Cas began asking questions of his own, like for instance how he's been.

They talked for hours until they heard one last knock on the door, Bobby gestured for the others to sit down and walked up to the last door by himself. Pulling it open to see Crowley standing there, holding a few containers of food in his hands.

"Hello, darling." Crowley greeted, stepping past him and into the house. The table was purposefully cleared so he could set his food there, placing it down carefully and insisting that Bobby pull a coat on himself and some boots so they could get the rest of the stuff in the car. It took two or three trips until everything, including the presents, were inside.

"Freezing my rocks off out there," Crowley hissed, pushing his coat from his shoulders and onto the back of one of the tables chairs, taking each snow covered boot off one at a time, leaving him in just his socks. He wore a black hoodie, and sported a red scarf around his neck, and, to Bobby's surprise, he was also wearing some Jean's along with his outfit instead of his usual dress pants or khaki's. The tip of his nose was tinted red because of the cold, along with his cheeks, his hair still holding a few flakes in the strands. "I made chicken and ham," Crowley started, "along with a few other things because I wasn't sure if any of them were vegans or vegita _aah!_ " Crowley squeaked in surprise when Bobby pulled him into a hug, after a moment he finally seemed to relax and fall into place, wrapping his own arms around the hunter, burying his face against the others neck.

"Thank's for coming." Bobby mumbled.

Crowley chuckled, "It's no problem at all, love. I rather enjoyed making a meal that wasn't just for myself."

Bobby released him, just slightly, arms still holding his side. "No really, you did all that and you didn't have to. I really appreciate it."

Crowley looked up at him, the surprised from his face melted away and he smiled up at him. "It was my pleasure, really."

Bobby wasn't sure how long they were like that until they heard a rather loud shout from the other room. "Crowley!"

They jumped apart when a flash of green flew into the room, Gabriel's jacket hanging fitly on his frame as he rushed forward from where he must have been sitting and spotted the business man. Arms wildly flying and wrapping around the mans neck, pulling the older man into a firm hug, Crowley wrapping his own arms around his excited colleague.

"Gabriel!" He greeted, "It's good to see you." The two of them looked to be about the same height, which was a strange thing to notice; seeing as it never really occurred to Bobby how short Crowley really was. He always seemed to stand 10 feet tall no matter where he was.

"It's great to see you too! I heard about the promotion on the big screen, congratulations!" Gabriel announced; Bobby hadn't really noticed before, but the expressions he made were that akin to a child. It could have been merely Gabriel's enthusiasm, but it made no difference all the same.

"Thank you." Crowley smirked, "I heard about how you're running the branch I left in your charge," tilting his head appreciatively, "So far I've no complaints, you certainly should keep it that way."

"To be honest," Gabriel made a show of looking at his fingers, picking at imaginary dirt under his short nails, the gesture was borderline on smug. "I've been told I do better than you."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm." Gabriel nodded, glancing up at the other, the smile that broke across his face was one he obviously couldn't control, like he was kidding and always was and intended to forever be.

"Thought so." The dark haired man grinned, glancing up when he saw a few unfamiliar faces start swarming into the room. The first one his eyes settled on was the tallest one, who looked nothing short of an actual moose.

"Uh, hello." He greeted, looking from face to face until one finally walked forward.

"Hey, I'm Dean." Pushing out his hand for Crowley to grab, who accepted it graciously. "Over there is my brother Sam," He pointed towards the moose, who stepped forward and grabbed his hand when Dean let go, nodding his greeting. "And this over here is Cas'." A man with dark hair and wide blue eyes stepped forward, taking his hand as well, dropping it moments later.

"The name's Crowley," He greeted, noticing a lock of dark hair hiding behind the moose. "And that's Meg, isn't it?"

Meg pushed pasted the brothers, stepping forward. "Hey Crowley." She greeted, shifting on her feet, "You've got everything?" Her eyes looked at the table where the food was placed, eyes landing on the presents and snatching them up, handing some for Sam to take and put under the little tree.

"Of course," He replied, drawing it out his voice, as if he was offended that she thought he hadn't come through. Bobby gestured for Sam to help him set up the table so they all could finally eat; Crowley sauntering over to the cabinets and snatching the plates, pulling them down and setting them around the table. It would be a bit of a tight fit, so Crowley figured he could stand and let the others eat around the table. The food was still hot when Dean started pulling them from the containers; the smell of it reminding them how hungry they all were. Sam was off snatching the silverware and Meg grabbed the napkins. Castiel started putting the food in portions on each plate, checking to see what everyone wanted and by the end of it all they had finally began eating.

"Why'd you bring Salad?" Bobby asked his friend, leaning against the counter with him, all the chairs having been taken by the rest of them. Cas and Sam were eating the salad, and although Crowley didn't bring a lot, the thought was still there.

"I didn't know if we had any vegetarians." He muttered, leaning with one elbow against the counter-top, holding his plate as he scooped his fork down and scooped up some mashed potatoes. Bobby chuckled at him.

"And that was the best you could come up with?" He teased, earning a rather dirty look as a response.

"What the hell else is there? I don't know what Vegan's eat." Crowley tried to defend, "Luckily no one here's into all that rubbish Vegan food."

"It's moral and it ain't rubbish," Bobby retorted, "What if I told you that I'm a Vegan?"

Crowley snorted, "Oh, I'm so sure Mr. _carnivore_." Bobby broke into a smile before continuing to eat. The food was good, to say the very least; anything he's ever eaten of Crowley's so far has tasted pretty good, and he's thankful he hadn't had to eat any of his weird Scottish food yet.

After everyone had finished eating, stuffed and most to almost all of the food was gone, they put away whatever was left for later. Crowley stayed behind to help Bobby with the dishes while the others migrated back into the living room. Beers in hand and all the two could hear was them all laughing and telling stories; once they finished up, Bobby had promised to get presents opened.

Crowley scrubbed the dishes himself, sleeves rolled up and back, hands covered in water and soap as he scrubbed yet another plate off, handing the finished product for Bobby to dry and put away.

"-Henry Hall was a _classic_ ," Crowley drawled, "I use to listen to him when I was really young. Helped me go to sleep every night."

"Oh, because telling kids to be quiet because the Boogeyman's coming to get you is _extremely_ soothing," Bobby retorted, "that's a _terrible_ goddamn song."

"You ignorant heathen," Crowley frowned, "It's telling tykes _not_ to be afraid of the boogeyman, and it's a _great_ song and _you're_ an idiot," Crowley grabbed the next plate, "besides, I hated Dave Matthews, and I don't believe he deserved all those hit songs he had."

"You're full of it," the hunter argued, "There is no way in hell you didn't like at least _one_ of his songs, because you'd be lying to me and to yourself."

"You're delusional," he muttered, "What about The Who?" he asked, "I rather liked them, and Queen. _Loved_ Queen, actually. I think I still have _The Best of Queen_ on cassette."

"I only know Bohemian Rhapsody," the hunter admitted.

"Oh, darling, you're missing out," Crowley scrubbed another plate clean, reaching for another but his hand touched the counter, turning to look over and there was nothing else. Washing his hands real quick before draining the sink and shutting off the faucet, Bobby tossing him a towel which he caught flawlessly. The two of them walking back into the living room where the rest of the guys and girl were at, Gabriel in the middle of some fantastic story the both of them missed out on.

Dean looked up at the entering adults, eyeing them a moment before speaking up. "So, can we open presents now?" Bobby checked the time, seeing as it's gotten rather late without fully realizing it; he gestured for someone to start passing them out; Meg took the initiative and started passing out the presents from underneath the little make-shift tree. She checked names, but for the most part it was for whomever, and had to look to whoever brought it to point out who they want what to go to who. It took a few good minutes, but in the end everyone had something sitting in front of them.

Meg and Crowley seemed to be the only ones who had specific names on theirs, and Meg had only bought something for Bobby and Crowley. The ones to Crowley, Gabriel, and Castiel, for the most part, could be coordinated between the three and they ended up pick them at random.

Dean was the first to open his, having gotten some clothes along with a few records by Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, and AC/DC. Dean also got a few extra things to help with what he does as a career as a mechanic. Sam even went out of his way and bought this little amulet for him, Dean thought it looked a little odd, but loved it immediately.

Sam was ecstatic about the books he received, and loved the new shirt. He was given a new laptop as well, which he honestly couldn't wait to begin using, along with a few interesting knick-knack's. Gabriel had gotten an entire thing filled with various assortments of candies, and books on various mythology which he thought were fantastic. Castiel had received lots of interesting metallic trinkets, treats and a few gift cards to various stores and shops around where he lived, finding them all do be fascinating. Meg got a lot of band T-shirts, and a kindle fire with at least 150 dollars for her buy some books to read in her free time, she also got some Jewelry and was fairly pleased with the results.

Crowley had gotten a great deal of Books, varying from _The Lord of the Flies_ to the _Quarantine_ trilogy. A few classic movies like _Hello Dolly!_ and _Anything Goes_ which were cute in his opinion, Meg having gotten him a red silk tie that he fell in love with instantly. Lastly, Bobby had gotten hat's and lot's of extra ammo for his guns, which saved him a few trips to the store and for that he was thankful. He'd received a sweater and a few old CD's for bands he hadn't listened to since he was a little kid, Meg having gotten him some dancing shoes with a note that said ' _I'm not much of a dancer, but you weren't half bad old man._ ' and it was rather nostalgic to read, glancing up at her, she caught his eye quickly enough and winked.

While everyone was looking over their new things, Bobby stepped out of the room a moment to get some more beer, having run out a little bit ago while everyone was opening up presents. He didn't hear footsteps approaching or realize anyone was coming until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Bobby literally jumped, his body jerking away from the touch and found Crowley to be standing there, holding something wrapped in his hands.

"My, my, don't you startle easy." Crowley commented, smirking at the hunter with a rather dark gaze. Bobby breathed out, trying to slow down his heart rate.

"Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry love, that wasn't my intention." Bobby couldn't tell if that was an apology or not, and decided not to take it as one.

The hunter sighed, looking back into the fridge and pulling out a beer, closing it and popping the bottle open. "What do you need?" He asked, taking a quick swig of his beer before the man lifted up the small delicately wrapped package for the hunter to see.

"Merry Christmas," he said cheekily, if not a tad unsure if that was the way it went. Bobby furrowed his brow at it, taking it from the others hands.

"You didn't have to get me anything--"

"I know, I know. Shut up," the man shifted onto his left leg, shoving his hands into the front of his jean pockets, "I wanted to. I know I didn't have to, but I saw this and knew you had to have it." Crowley glanced down at the present before looking back up at the hunter. "Well? Open it up."

Bobby hesitated a moment before his fingers began to deftly tear at the packaging, the present itself was the size of a shoe box, and it made the hunter even more curious the more he opened it up. At first glance, it was just an average brown box until he slid the lid off. His eyes glanced down at what was inside and felt his heart skip a few beats.

"Is that--"

"Yes, it is." Crowley smirked, having gotten the exact reaction he wanted. "A Colt, or more specifically a Single Action Army revolver." Crowley took a few steps forward, watching as he picked it up, getting a feel for it. There was some ammo packaged off to the side of the gun itself, and he doubt Bobby noticed for the moment. "Chambered in the .45 Colt caliber, it's one of the best of its kinds. And it works, if you're wondering."

"I don't know what to say." Bobby spoke, the _awe_ factor was still highly evident in his voice and that was more than enough for Crowley.

"You don't have to say anything. But do you like it?"

"Is that even a question?" Bobby for once sounded bewildered, and there wasn't much out there that could do that to him anymore. "Thank you."

Bobby had gotten Crowley a present too, but he had to remember where he placed it. He'd give it to him before he left-- He didn't really want the boys to be here for that, he has a hard time talking out of his normal circle, and giving presents was an another ball game altogether. The thought made him anxious, and he figured his nerves would set better if there wasn't anyone watching him while he does it.

After a few hours, people finally began leaving. Meg was the first to go, having stopped by her boss a moment, ducking down and whispered something in his ear. Crowley's cheeks had gone a soft tint of red because of whatever she was saying, glancing at Bobby a moment before quickly averting his eyes, Meg leaned back up and patted his arm, exchanging a glance between the two of them before she walked over and gave Bobby a hug, telling the boys goodbye before she finally left. Bobby didn't comment or ask about what she had said to him, because he honestly didn't believe it was any of his business.

Maybe it had something to do with work, or something significantly worse.

Maybe they were sleeping together.

Bobby wasn't sure where the thought came from, but it occurred to him that they could be potentially sleeping together. It'd make sense, he guessed-- They saw each other every day, worked in the same building. They got along better than most people did and are still able to hold that bit of snark every time they talk. They bicker like an old married couple on occasion, so why couldn't they be together? He wasn't all that sure why the thought sort of bothered him; he really tried not to think too much about it but for a few minutes there he couldn't help himself.

Sam and Gabriel were at least 30 minutes after Meg, Gabriel having made sure he got those numbers from Cas' before giving his brother and Crowley a hug before he left, Sam made sure to hug Dean and Bobby also before heading out, saying their goodbyes. Dean and Cas' were shortly after.

All there was left was Bobby and Crowley, who talked about this and that while they cleaned up the messes the other's left, packaging what was left of snacks nobody took home with them and trying to find places for them in his pantry. They took down some of the decorations, but a good majority of them stayed up, mostly because they were just too tired to deal with and figured they'd just get to them later. They picked up the trash, most of them were the wrapping's that was scattered across the floor and a few fallen chips here and there.

When everything was finished, Crowley suggested they get some fresh air, so that's exactly what they went out and did.

Bundled up, the two of them sat outside on the back stairs to Bobby's home, it was around 11:00 at night and the snow was still falling, although it was more drifting downward rather than the blizzard it was before. Wrapped in their heavy coats, and hats, they sat there, watching the snow fall for what seemed to be forever in compatible silence, not really needing to say anything. Crowley tightened his red scarf around his neck, shoving his hands deep inside of his pockets to keep them relatively warm.

The inside of the house felt stuffy and wrong now that there wasn't anybody inside, Rumsfeld having been sleeping under Bobby's desk a majority of the way through and staying out of sight for the most part; Bobby imagined that the excitement wore him out. It felt too hot inside, and wrong, so they decided that being outside suited them better, and it felt good getting some fresh air for a bit, even if the cold nipped at their noses. The back porch light was on, and it was the only reason they could see at the moment, the snow covered everything and the clouds above them made the night sky look impossibly darker.

Bobby could see his breath puffing out of his lips, reminding him of a dragon and he wasn't sure why the thought amused him as much as it did. And they just sat there, and it just felt right.

They were quiet for what seemed to be forever before Bobby finally found the courage to open his mouth.

"Are you and Meg sleeping together?"

Where the hell did that come from.

He could hear the others coat shifting, a soft fractious sound and he knew Crowley was looking at him, and it didn't take much to imagine his incredulous expression.

"Excuse me?" He sounded bewildered and a bit amused, if his voice was anything to go by.

"I don't know, I just-" He waved his hands, trying to think of the right words to say, the cold air brushed over them and Bobby shoved them back deeply into his coat pockets. "It just, seems like it, I guess." That didn't sound right, "What I mean is that, I saw her whispering in your ear earlier- You looked flustered and I assumed-"

"That she was speaking dirty to me?" Crowley snickered, the grin evident in his voice. "Darling I enjoy Meg's company just as much as you do, but me and her are no where near shagging if that makes you feel any better." The business man breathed, "Besides, she not exactly my type."

Bobby was about to respond when he felt something in his pocket, his fingers brushing against it. Confused, he reached further into his pocket before he made out a rectangular shape- There it was. The present he had lost earlier, he forgot it in his coat pocket. Bobby felt bad for neglecting something meant for someone else, but again, he wasn't good with this kind of thing; having gone out and picked it himself. Kind of like a small thank you from him for all the times Crowley stuck around when he could be doing a hell of a lot more with himself. Crowley could be out clubbing, spending his time making more money for himself and doing whatever Crowley would generally do.

But he stayed here with Bobby, in his rickety house and didn't complain or make some sideways comment about his house, or about how dirty it gets sometimes or how piled the dishes can get, or even about Bobby himself. He know's he's not in any way a sight, but Crowley's never commented about it and acts as if he doesn't notice.

So this was his way of thanking him.

"I never really imagined you'd have a type." Bobby grumbled, fingers tracing over the box a bit more, contemplating a good time to hand it over. He was shy at best, and giving any sort of gift to anyone other than his boys made him incredibly anxious.

"Of course I have a type, everyone typically does." Crowley stated, his voice lowering, and it was growing a bit harder to hear over the wind.

"I wouldn't say everybody." Bobby didn't think he had a type, he was never all that picky to begin with, but after Karen he just stopped caring about relationships altogether. They'd never work and always ended in heartache.

Every single time.

"That's hard to believe." Crowley responded. Shoulder brushing against the hunters.

"Well, what's your type?" Bobby asked offhandedly, watching his breath turn white and evaporate. Crowley seemed to chuckle, brushing it off.

"That's rather hard to explain."

"Try me." The hunter said, but it sounded like more of a challenge than anything else. Crowley was quiet, for what seemed to be a long and lasting moment before Bobby heard him shifting, the soft fractious sound of his coat moving, feeling the man's breath against his cheek, causing Bobby to turn to face him.

Crowley was on his knee's facing him, and indescribable expression settled on his rather handsome features, chewing his lower lip before moving a bit closer, and that's when Bobby heard the man breathe _okay_ before he felt two warm lips brushing and connecting with his own.

Bobby's mind went completely blank at the contact, his mind not connecting to the movement of his mouth and with the movement of Crowley's; the feeling was incredibly weird, the lips were slightly chapped but sent warmth spreading all throughout his body. Two cold hands moving up and clutching the sides of the hunters face and holding him, cradling his head between two cold palms when he felt a hot wet tongue brush against his lower lip, asking permission to enter and Bobby was too shocked to deny.

His lips parted and he felt Crowley's tongue slide inside, Bobby's cheeks flushed exceptionally and he found himself pressing into the feeling; feeling the lack of touch and connection from a long time wash over him and he almost felt desperate for it, for the touch, the contact. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his own tongue sliding over and brushing against Crowley's, feeling incredibly warm even though it was impossibly cold outside. His breath caught in his throat, and he wanted to melt there and then and to be smothered in this wave of feeling, this rush of connection, for as long as he was allowed to; he felt deprived of it, of that warmth, and now that he had it he didn't want to let it go.

However, reality, social norms and fear reared their ugly heads, and they were looking directly at him.

Crowley was a _man_ and where he lived, with _how_ he lived, it'd be a damn surprise if he didn't get shot at, just because he looked at another guy a little funny. And in that moment everything seemed to crash around him, because there was the fact that he hadn't been in a relationship since- well, since Karen died. Fear and anxiety washed over him, cutting off everything else-- he could feel himself closing off, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe.

He wasn't ready, and seeing how they both were? How they acted-- They were these complete opposites. Crowley would grow bored of him and leave, or worse, get killed like his past partner had.

He couldn't- Bobby knew he couldn't handle something happening again to someone he cared about. John and Mary dying in that house fire, Karen dying of cancer, Sam nearly overdosing and having to be committed into rehab. He couldn't do it anymore; he couldn't put himself out on a limb and risk everything again, he didn't think he could take anymore blows.

Bobby pulled away from the other, their mouths parting and Crowley looked at him with this- with this goddamn kicked puppy expression, he looked so hurt and confused before this mask seemed to shift on his face. They were both panting, cheeks red from the cold and the warmth mixing together, and Bobby only just barely whispered how sorry he was before Crowley roughly pulled away.

"I should go." His voice was hard, and it really stabbed the hunter in the chest with how easily he just brushed him off, how he seemed to brush everything off and away from him. He moved to stand, making his way back to his car with his back turned to Bobby's. His shoulders were hunched, and he wouldn't look at him anymore; Bobby had hurt him and he doesn't even know the extent of the wounds he's caused. The hunter couldn't watch as Crowley got in his car and drove off, it tore Bobby apart and he wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind, and even then it was too late.

He watched as the other's tail lights disappeared through the storm and Bobby took one last deep shaky breath of cold air before he pushed himself to his feet, making his way back inside. His coat had snow matted onto it, but he didn't care as he peeled it off of him, tossing his shoes aside. The present in his pocket forgotten.

His house was so quiet, and for the first time in a long time, he felt how truly alone he really was. The hunter took a seat on his couch, his eyes glancing over and saw Crowley's things still sitting there, the books and movies resting in a neat pile, his red tie laying over it lazily.

Bobby dropped his face into his hands, the silence of the house was defining and he felt as if he couldn't breathe.

God, what had he done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get started, shall we?


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to have a bit of fun with this chappy, and thought that seeing a bit of Crowley's perspective would fill up a great deal of space and help get the whole point across with where they were. Thank you for everyone who sent me messages on tumblr and commented on the last chapter, you guys are so sweet and I'm so happy you guys are loving the story. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy. ^^
> 
> [It's not as long as the previous, but we'll get back to longer chapters once I work on the two of them.]

That was it for him, he was finished, through. He had to stop doing this to himself.

Crowley's hands tightened around his steering wheel, looking out the windshield into the night as the snowflakes attempted to build up on the cool glass. The Scotsmen breathed out heavily, brokenly as he tried to keep his attention on the road; he was just so _angry_ he could barely even see straight. He was angry, confused, but worst of all he was so _hurt_ that it was growing difficult to breathe.

Bobby just _brushed him off!_ Just like that! Like he was dirt or the scum on the bottom of his shoe. He just didn't care and it ate at him like nothing else. Like a termite on wood, or acid on paper would.

Crowley was so certain that- and Bobby just- _God_ he just wanted to throttle him.

If only he hadn't allowed that _stupid_ , foolish _redneck_ to charm his way into the most vulnerable parts of his heart he wouldn't be in this mess.

Crowley can't even pin-point how or when it even happened, by all accounts it didn't even make any sense; he was in a bit of an accident, that much was clear. He looked for help and stumbled upon a quaint, if not a bit lived in, home. A surly bearded redneck opened the door and helped him out a bit and that was all. Perhaps it was when he brought over the Craig as payment, or maybe it was the talking that started to get to him, or the mental stimulation he gave. Bobby may not look like much, but he was a hell of a lot smarter than he looked.

Even if he were just _stuck_ on looks, Bobby was still so expressive when he wasn't so closed off. He could make a complete stranger feel so warm and welcome with just a look and it drove him absolutely mad.

By all means, this was an utter all time low by Crowley's standards, but he couldn't help himself; couldn't somehow magically stop himself from digging this hole he's buried himself in. With everyone he's even been with, Bobby shouldn't even bloody _compare_. But he does, and he does so flawlessly. Crowley's been with a great deal of people, most of them higher on the middle class scale, men of respected business who drink the finest of drinks, picky with their food and by all means ungrateful. Rude, sexist, but charming in that high society sort of way, they had class and drew Crowley in like a moth to a flame.

But Bobby? He was a hunter, with a dirty mannerism and a crude vocabulary; but there was just so much to him that broke all these stereotypes and Crowley drank in every part of him as if he'd never get the chance to again. He was so clever and quick on his tongue, he could go on for _days_ about history, from Roman to Greek mythology, his mouth running 350 mph when talking about how _infuriated_ he still got over the Library of Alexandria. His house was filled with so many books and stories, and he could go on for hours about each individual one and what he liked and disliked from it.

He adored Bobby's filthy mouth whenever he got frustrated, how he could so easily wear his emotions on his sleeves when he keeps them bottled up when anyone else is around. The vivid gestures he does with his hands when he's trying to explain something, and the arch of his brow whenever he becomes confused or annoyed. It was everything, and Crowley didn't think it was possible to fall head over heels for someone who wasn't even trying.

Crowley loved the banter; The mental stimulation that Bobby gave him was a relief after a long day of working with complete morons who can't even read at a collage level or even think for themselves. He hated Bobby's taste in liquor, but enjoyed sharing his own, trying to broaden his tastes and open his mind a bit. He knew several different languages and was just so _interesting_ with so many stories he's yet to tell anyone as he's had himself hermitted away from everyone and everything, and Crowley just doesn't know why. He doesn't understand why someone with so much potential and so many levels and layers to them would hide something like that away, it was mind boggling; but Crowley had previously figured it was because nobody else would appreciate these things as much as he did.

He was charming, in a burly sort of way; even just the way he smiled sometime's when he heard something relatively hilarious or pleasing, the front of his teeth showing and the smile reaching all the way up to his eyes, crinkling the skin pleasantly and it sent warmth spreading all throughout the Scotsmen's body and it irritated him to no end.

After the first time they'd shared a drink, Crowley thought it was going to be that; the end of it, and they'd simply just continue on with whatever life they had and they'd forget about each other. He thought about him every now and again after that, and when Lilith had so suddenly informed him a week before the celebration, about the promotion he was getting, for whatever god-forsaken reason he had, he felt _inclined_ to tell Bobby of the news. There was no reason for it, and when he had actually gotten into town he got cold feet, realizing he was acting like a fool and should just head home. Bumping into the hunter at the market had been by complete chance and at that point he thought " _why not?_ " It was too late then, and had believed that Bobby only nodded to get him off of his back.

It was to his complete and pleasant surprise that Bobby had called him a few days later to let him know that he was coming.

It all spiraled out of control after that, and Crowley felt himself falling further and further into this pit he couldn't crawl out of, and during the party he realized he didn't want to. How he danced with Meg, his touch so gentle against her back and her hand as he swept her across the dance floor; Crowley longed for something like that, to have that in his grasp. To be held by those big strong but gentle hands, feel them run over his face and body, craving something he was too foolish to realize he just couldn't have.

Crowley felt a lump in his throat, blinking away the stinging in his eyes as he just tried to get home.

No, he had been blinded by his infatuation with that man, he completely forgot that there could have been even the foggiest chance that Bobby just didn't feel that same about him. His chest hurt, his hand rubbing over his eye to get rid of the water that was beginning to form.

 _God_ , he felt so embarrassed. He put himself out on a limb there only to have Bobby stomp on it and toss it away; not to mention that utter look of pure panic on his face. His heart sunk so low he wouldn't be surprised if it weighed him down to the point of being unable to move. Crowley hadn't even considered the others feelings when he savagely just kissed him like that, and he was just so good at first; he could still feel the hunters hands on his sides when he pull him closer until he abruptly shoved him off.

Crowley can still taste the rotgut and cocoa against his lips, his teeth clamped against his lower, stifling a broken sound as it dared to try and break passed his lips. His hands tightened around the wheel, stretching a moment before wrapping around it once again, eyes going blurry; blinking away the tears as he tried to pay attention to the road.

When he finally got home, he didn't bother to get the food he had left-over out of his back seat, slamming his car door shut he rushed up to his floor. He tried to keep himself together until he finally made it to his room-- Crowley pointedly ignored the front clerk, hands shoved deep in his pockets and rushing over to the elevator, pressing the button for the doors to open and stepping briskly inside the cramped room. He was alone and as the doors finally shut he allowed himself a moment to try to steer himself, but it only caused for him to nearly cry out, a hand rushing to his mouth to try and stifle the sound, eyebrows furrowing together in near distress. His eyes were watering and threatening to spill over until he ran the pad of his index finger and thumb, brushing it away. It took him a few long moments of trying to breathe before he finally hit the button to take him to his floor.

Feet nearly tripping over themselves as he bolted for his room once the elevator doors parted; he just needed to get inside, and he'd be alright. Away from wandering eyes; fumbling with the keys in his hands and nearly dropping them as he quickly made his way inside of his apartment. Crowley pushed his door open roughly, pushing inside before slamming the door shut, the sound nearly booming in the empty apartment and hall, quickly locking it behind him, before he finally let himself crash down. Staring at his door when the feelings finally overwhelmed him, forehead brushing against the hollow steel surface as his keys fell from his hands.

Tearing his coat off of himself, he threw it in a short fit of rage, ripping his shoes off and throwing them at the opposite wall. They thudded loudly as the connected with the dry wall, clumping to the ground lifelessly; Crowley panting heavily at the sudden burst of adrenaline.

His back fell against the cool surface of his door, a hand reaching up to his mouth when he felt another shattered sound attempting to escape, eyes fluttering close as his back slid down the door until he was sitting, leaning against it when his legs gave out. He felt like a fool for getting so caught up in something that was out of reach; it wasn't like it was his first time he's been rejected, but for some reason the fact that he was barely given a chance stung the worst.

Yes, Crowley's had his fair share of lovers in the past, a great deal of infatuations that dwindled into nothing as time went on, but Bobby? Bobby was _different_ , and Crowley just couldn't pinpoint as to why that was. He was just a man, a very ordinary man. But that was just it, wasn't it? He wasn't all that ordinary, was he?

He had so much _heart_. So much more personality than these lifeless drones that surrounded him in every day life, and he felt gluttonous for it. For that spark Bobby gave him and now it was just gone, because he made a stupid and childish mistake. What was he? A prepubescent teenager? He had better control than that, what was he thinking?

Bobby most likely resented him now, and he had every right too- Crowley felt like was was being led on, but if that expression Bobby had given him was anything to go by, than he probably didn't have any idea what he was doing to the Scotsman and Crowley just couldn't blame him for reacting the way he did. God know's how ridiculous _he_ was acting, but he just couldn't stop.

He honestly should have seen it coming, he was just so blinded and now he has to face the consequences of his irrational actions. This wasn't some silly fairy tale; this was reality, and how often do things really play out for the best in the end? Crowley pulled up the sleeves to his sweater onto his hands to wipe away the wetness that was building in his eyes, stiffening his lower lip and telling himself to breathe. However, the more he tried, the worse he felt, and in the end he stayed collapsed in that spot against his apartment door until morning.

_oxo_

He'd been calling for days.

It's been at least a few weeks after the whole incident and he still hadn't heard hide nor tail of the Scotsmen the entire time. Bobby felt like hell, and just how he reacted towards the other man had been keeping him up at night. He thought about the kiss, but it wasn't just the kiss either- it was everything leading up to the kiss, and it made Bobby feel like a complete ass for not realizing it any sooner.

Everything they did together; Crowley would make him food and sit and listen to him bitch and whine, and Bobby could just be completely ungrateful to him; He'd help him go to the store or clean the place up when Bobby was in the middle of helping some poor bastard with a hunt. Bobby didn't even have the courtesy to think twice about it, he just sort have just, well- _assumed_ that was how Crowley was with everybody, and it wasn't like he had a real _point of reference_ here when it came to that- Whenever they spent time together, which was more often than not, it was just the two of them for the most part.

Everything that Crowley's done for him was because he was under some.. _illusion_ that Bobby was some _"great guy"_ , or what ever it was that he saw in the hunter- maybe he had drank a little too much, or maybe he had him confused with someone else, but it just didn't _seem_ that way before. He felt like a complete dick for pushing away the one person who really cared enough to remember him just because he had a momentary mild-life crisis concerning the kiss, and the fact that he really did enjoy it at first was more of a kick to the stomach on the Scotsman's end.

Bobby kept telling himself it was because he had been starved of another humans touch for so long and that's why he reciprocated the action, but he couldn't deny the absolute fever he had done so with. He'd spent the first two weeks trying to convince himself that he was better off, and that he was that same heterosexual man he's lived his whole life being and that he just had a moment of weakness; however, no matter how many times he reassured himself this, it was getting harder and harder to believe it. He _kissed back_. And no average heterosexual male whose hermitted himself away would reciprocate something like _that_ regardless. If he was thinking so "clearly" then he would have pushed him away the moment it started. And that was _exactly_ his goddamn problem, because he did the _exact_ opposite.

He wasn't sure how he felt about the whole thing, it's not as if he suddenly woke up and announced he was in love with the guy or something equally ridiculous, but he knew he felt wrong without him around. His life was like a metronome before he showed up and tweaked with the balance that he was so familiar with, and Bobby knew he sure as hell didn't want to go back to walking around his house utterly alone, closed and cut off like he had been since the day Karen died, and once the boys moved out. He couldn't do that anymore; he was getting old, and having to be the only one watching his own back was getting tiring.

Bobby hated to admit it, but he knew damn well that he was lonely.

When Crowley was around, he kept the place upbeat. The house always smelled of food and felt so much warmer when he was around; from when he'd help straighten up the house, or lay sprawled out against the couch, wearing a sweater with his nose shoved in a book. Sometimes, he'd get so caught up in a story, that his tea that he had with him would go cold before he could even take another sip. It was the little things that brought this old rust bucket back to life since everything that had happened, and it just didn't feel so empty anymore, even after Crowley left for the night.

Bobby wasn't sure what he thought he'd gain by trying to contact the Scotsman, but he had to try and do something. Maybe just apologize, however he didn't really know; yet he hoped something would come out of this, even if he were to just admit he'd been a dick. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were, but he knew that wasn't just going to happen without something either coming of it, or it being awkward as hell between them.

Still, he tried.

Because after all-- well, at least for the most part he knew that he wanted Crowley around. That much he was for sure.

He didn't know for what reasons, or what he even expected, but he knew he wanted him there. Bobby had made this-- sort of, well _bond_ with Crowley, that he couldn't just tear down and forget about, no matter how much he could try, even if he wanted to and he knew it wouldn't just _go away_. He can't just do away with months worth's of- just _everything_ that they had that helped build that bridge. To be honest, he wouldn't take a moment of it back, because he hadn't felt so happy in a long time.

It was stressful and confusing, telling himself that he wasn't ready for something like what Crowley wanted; but here he was, trying to call and get a hold of him to try and get the exact thing he wasn't ready for. He was afraid of rekindling a bond that he hadn't had since his late wife, afraid he was just too old to even try, but he's also afraid of losing the one person who slowed down his own steady life to help push the hunters along with his.

So, regardless, Bobby continued to call, but Crowley kept ignoring them. Kept ignoring him because he'd been such a dick to him; Bobby didn't think for a moment that Crowley would give him even the time of day after what he did, but still he persisted. Bobby felt almost selfish doing so; but, if nothing else, he wanted to at least tell Crowley how sorry he was. The guy opened up to him, and he just pushed him away, nobody deserved that.

If the roles were reversed, Bobby knew for a fact that he'd be pretty damn broken up.

For a few days it went on like that, calling Crowley whenever he figured the guy was off at work and at home, but still his calls were ignored. It was almost routinely for a few days and eventually Bobby gave up even trying for a couple days. He figured Crowley needed the space, and him butting in all the time wasn't helping him do that.

After a few days had passed, Bobby tried again, and _surprise surprise_ he was ignored. Crowley's voice mail began playing, he looked at his phone before clicking end. It was pointless to try, Crowley didn't want anything to do with him and he had every right to feel that way. Bobby breathed out heavily, looking down at Rumsfeld who was asleep at his feet, body resting under his desk. The hunter ran his hands over his face, he needed a drink.

Pushing up from his desk, he sauntered away from his chair and made his way into the kitchen; Bobby looked around the bare room vaguely; it was the next day after the Christmas party, Bobby had spend the entire time taking down the decorations, placing the tree Meg and him had created down in the basement to keep it safe for next year. He packaged all the Christmas decorations, took things back down and cleaned all day trying to keep his mind preoccupied as he tried to sort out what the hell happened the night before.

Bobby pointedly avoided Crowley's presents sitting on his desk, because he felt that he'd have to acknowledge something deep inside of him if he did, that he'd have to confront his fears and his insecurities if he were to approach them. So he stayed clear of his desk for a few days until he finally swallowed his pride, snatching them up to place them someplace else.

When he had gotten the courage to grab them, he had been expecting some sort of revelation, or perhaps something equally worse; yet, nothing happened.

He had been in a mist of a panic for no reason, and he damn well knew he was overreacting. He felt his fears drain away, grumbling bitterly to himself as he collected himself; He ended up grabbing the gun Crowley had given him and placed it in his desk, snatching up the present he had been planning on giving Crowley, along with his stuff, upstairs, setting them on his nightstand to deal with later. He'd been drifting through his house, feeling lost and frustrated for a few days as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to do. How did he even begin to confront what happened out there, when he was still barely admitting it to himself?

For a while, he pushed it off. Set it aside and avoided thinking about it as much as he could, he figured that there was no use in wallowing in the past and for a little while it helped him get back to hunts, drifting in and out of having free time again and he constantly reassured himself that this is what he was used to, this is exactly where he should be. Back to where things were, but the void that filled his house didn't go unnoticed, but rather ignored. However, it didn't last nearly as long as it could have, and that edging feeling of loneliness creeping up in the back of his mind.

Still, he pushed the feelings aside and continued to attempt to think nothing of it. Continued to pretend it didn't bother him as much as it really did until he finally cracked; that was a few days before he decided to call him. That takes him to where he was now.

Bobby looked inside of his fridge, eyes scanning the contents until he found a nice cold beer near the back. Grabbing it offhandedly, Bobby popped open the cap and took a thoughtless swig, ears perking when he heard his phone beginning to buzz. Glancing over his shoulder to his desk, he closed the fridge and began walking over to his desk, Rumsfeld pushing out from underneath of the platform due to the disturbance, his chain clattering as he jumped onto the couch, settling back down.

Bobby placed his beer against the desk's surface, the cold glass clinking against the hard surface. Bobby didn't bother checking the caller before answering and pressing the phone to his hear. "Hello?"

" _Robert, quit calling me while I'm at work. You make it seem as if there's a fire._ " The voice sounded rough over the other end, tired and frustrated pact into one. The tone was grinding, bitter at its best and it was rather unnerving at first listen in.

Bobby blinked a moment, was that Crowley? It didn't sound like him, but the way he talk certainly did. He sounded colder, less open and bitter; everything the hunter had never heard directed at him, and Bobby knew that was his fault.

"I'm sorry, I uh-" Bobby cleared his throat, suddenly feeling small and flustered. Like a teenager caught reading his first porn, half bare with his mother standing there disapprovingly. It was awkward at best, but uncomfortable over all and the guilt weighed on his chest with a vigorous pressure. "I've been trying to uh-" He cleared his throat, "to- get a hold of you for the past few days." He began rather lamely.

" _I've noticed, and?_ " Bobby felt like he was getting stabbed in the gut; if Crowley was talking to him in the same way he'd describe Abaddon, then he knew he dug himself a hole he couldn't just talk his way out of. Bobby pressed his lips together, taking a deep breath.

"And, uh-" he breathed, trying to sort out his words and feeling unsure for the longest of moments with how to approach the subject. So far Crowley hadn't hung up, so either he was actually interested in what he had to say, or he was waiting for Bobby to make a fool of himself via the telephone; All Bobby wanted was for him to hear him out. "We, uh-" Bobby bit down on his lower lip, trying to keep his breathing steady as he spoke, however the conviction in his tone was severely lacking.

"We need to talk." He said slowly, leaning against his desk, his hand propping against the side and his palm brushing against a few stray papers sprawled over the surface. He sounded tired to his own ears but he hoped that wasn't all Crowley heard.

" _We are talking._ " Bobby rubs one hand over the lid of his eyes, trying to rub out his frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose to prevent himself from snapping back at him. They both could have a bit of a temper, but Bobby had to keep his head because he couldn't afford to lose it here and now. He had to fix this, not make it worse.

Bobby let out a shaky worn sigh, lowering his voice. "Crowley, you know that's not what I meant."

" _Oh really? It's come to my understanding that you do a great deal of things you don't mean._ " Crowley snapped, tone clipped and dripping in sarcasm.

The hunter took a breath, steadying himself. Take aim, and shoot. "Yeah, I know."

Crowley was quiet a long moment, and when Bobby realized he wasn't going to speak, he went on.

"I know, and that's the exact reason we need to talk." Bobby started, talking slowly, calculated in a way, testing out his words as he said them as to make sure they didn't come out wrong. He couldn't risk making any more mistakes.

"I mess up," He paused, " _A lot-_ " Taking in a deep breath of air, eyes wandering around the room, his tone dropping lower, almost meekly as he continued to speak. "I'm only human, and I'm only ever going to let you down." The hunter chewed on his words, feeling like he could suddenly choke on them if he wasn't careful. "-and I think you of all people deserve an explanation-" He paused, " _and_ an apology." Bobby pressed his lips together in a thin line, looking down at his feet the longer he spoke, waiting for the Scotsman to inevitably hang-up with no warning and expecting it to be soon. He sounded pathetic to his ears, but it was as sincere as he could be. "I just- I can't do this over the phone. I've never been good with this kind of thing and I'm hoping you'll hear me out."

Crowley was still quiet, and Bobby couldn't tell if he was considering his offer or waiting for him to stop talking so he can shut off the phone without feeling too rude about it.

A soft puff of air broke past his lips, "If it sweetens the deal," he tried, lifting the tone in his voice if only just barely, "you left your um, presents here from a few weeks ago and I imagine you'd want those back." He was trying to lighten the situation, but he honestly couldn't tell if he was making it worse or likewise. "If for no other reason, at least come by for that."

After a long moment he finally heard the other breathe on the other end, as if he'd been holding his breath.

" _I'll uhm-- I'll stop by after work for a few minutes, but that's_ all _I'm giving you._ " His voice sounded softer, still a bit rough around the edges but there was that familiar open sounding lift in the sound; He'd almost say fond if he didn't still believe the Scotsman wanted to choke him to death. Bobby felt as if he could smile, but the weighing feeling of guilt in his chest prevented him from doing so. " _I uh-_ " Bobby could hear the other verbally pause, like he was swallowing. " _I've got to uh, get back to work. I'll see you then._ " Bobby nodded faintly to himself, before muttering his soft _okay._

Crowley hung up before he even removed the phone from his ear, glancing at the screen as it blinked away and went back to the main screen. The hunter made a soft disgruntled sound, running his hands from his jaw to his hair-line, rubbing across his cheeks and over his eyes. After a moment he dropped his hands to his lap, his palms making a rather loud slapping sound from the force. Rumsfeld upturned his head slightly, glancing at his owner halfheartedly before laying his head against the back of his paws.

Bobby glanced at his dog before rounding his desk, eyes scanning over the obscene amount of work he has to get done before Crowley comes over; if he even manages to do that right, unlike a majority of everything right about now. Dropping into his seat, he picked up his pen, twisting it idly between his fingers and briefly glancing at the clock hung on his wall a moment before pushing himself to work.

He only had one shot at this, and he couldn't afford to mess this up the same way he messes up everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Crowley at the beginning of the chapter, how he was reacting-- I realized that it may sound a bit strange and that he may be a bit "overreacting" but for those who think that, let me explain something.
> 
> If you had sported this deep infatuation for this person for months [Technically over a year without really realizing it] and when you finally show your affections and to be rejected like that, it hurts. [And I'm not talking about that magical place called the "Friendzone".] He had been showing his affections subtly, afraid to say anything because he was terrified of being rejected, and when he thought for sure that Bobby had liked him back, he was shoved away, and that can really hurt a person. He didn't push himself on Bobby after that, or try to convince him that being together was the better choice because he respected Bobby's boundaries, even if it hurt him emotionally in the process.
> 
> I tried to make his reaction as realistic as I could; So I used as best of a source as I could. [I had talked to a few friends for reference at what they felt, so this is a good mixture between several different people to make it as accurate as I could.] So Crowley's emotions are as put out and as played off as best as I could describe that feelings as I could and I hope you could see it too. [Over thinking things, blaming himself, etc.]-- Although, seeing as they haven't been together, I wouldn't say he necessarily heartbroken, but more embarrassed and angry than anything else.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Couches were very uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was because he slept on his so often that it's flattened and matted over the years, but he can't help but think that laying on his couch is probably the most uncomfortable he could be in his own house. To an extent at least. The supposive fluff that was fitted inside of the cushions felt lumpy and clumped up on certain ends, while other spots felt more flattened out from frequent use. The surface of the couch felt rough against his clothes and skin that happened to be touching it, like it was made from some sort of frayed wool or something equally unflattering.

Maybe if he chose to sleep on his bed more he wouldn't be thinking about how unsatisfying the couch was in comparison, but the bed was so far away some nights he just didn't bother wasting his time when sleep could be much sooner with his couch only a few feet away. Some sections of the couch were actually dipped now because of him sleeping on it so often, or napping in other cases; Where his hips would fall against the once soft cushions, along with where his shoulders blades would rest, was dipped down and flatter than some other sections. It wasn't all that noticeable unless someone was actually looking for it.

Bobby noticed it, however.

Laying on something for so long in troubled thought made him more aware of his surroundings. Like his mind was trying to distract him of his worries and anxieties, as if the thought of his uncomfortable couch could help ease his nerves but they didn't.

The hunter had been lying on his couch for hours, knowing that he wasn't going to get anything done in his troubled state of mind. Bobby know's when he over thinks he can't stop moving or fussing around, straightening things or making them crooked. Nervous habits coming back to life, leg bouncing, fingers tapping insistently against the surface of his desk, chewing his tongue as he tried to keep himself distracted until Crowley finally got off work.

He felt his stomach settling in his throat the more he thought it over.

Bobby wasn't sure what he planned on even saying, or what he planned to do. Hell, he didn't even know what he expected to come of any of this, and he silently hoped it was for the best. However, something in his gut told him there wasn't much chance for things working out in any way that could remotely help the two of them. How could it? When does anything ever go his way? They don't. They never do. It was almost like the universe was punishing him for _something_ , but he just didn't know what.

There were two things Bobby typically went by, one was to never eat anything wrapped in tin foil; and two was to never get his hopes up.

So, here he was, lying on his lumpy uncomfortable couch, lowering his hopes and expectations and preparing for the worst.

Which, in his case, shouldn't be too bad. The worst Crowley could do was scream at him, right? Shouting and swinging his fists before storming out to ignore him for the rest of his life didn't seem all that bad, the more Bobby thought about it. It was better than the option of him showing up with a gun and shooting his place to all hell. Although he doubted Crowley would do that; the possibility, although improbable, was still there.

So Bobby continued to stare up at his unflattering ceiling, letting his mind wander and it got him thinking.. a lot.

Well, what if Crowley actually does show up and storms into his house? Not even to speak with him but to just grab his things and just go?

Bobby felt like a coward, because the more he thought about Crowley showing up, the more he continued to see him quickly snatching up his things and bolting out of there; and Bobby can already see his words choking up in his throat, and before he'll even have the chance to explain himself, Crowley would already be gone. And it was the cold reality that smacked the hunter across the face that made him realize that he could very possibly let him, and never get a word out.

Reality was cold and hard, but it wasn't just the rough reality of losing a good friend, because it didn't matter which directions this all could go; Bobby knew that either way, if he were to somehow keep him there or push him away, regardless of the actual outcome, each and every single time he would be losing a good friend.

Bobby's hands felt sweaty and clammy, tugging at the ends of his sleeves and the bottom of his shirt. He was afraid- Afraid of change, afraid of loss. He was terrified of getting into something he wasn't even sure of what it was yet. It was all backwards and he wasn't ready for the kind of bond that Crowley was probably opting or hoping for; Well, it wasn't like Bobby was completely adverse to the idea of.. well, waking up to the face of someone else in the morning. The thought in itself didn't necessarily bother him, and neither did the face of that certain someone he wouldn't be so adverse to doing so with.

To be honest, Bobby liked the idea of knowing that someone was there, that _someone_ had already done the dishes, that _someone_ had already took care of what they were going to eat that night, that _someone_ was already sitting there with two cups of coffee or whiskey and handing one to him while he bitched and moaned about taxes or something equally as domestic. The same things him and Karen used to do, the same things he wanted to do all over again but was always so afraid of going out there and trying.

But it was the underlying fear that edged it's way back into his mind's eye that prevented him from stepping out and taking it. The whole reality of the situation was that he was honestly contemplating a relationship with another man in a state that's still explicitly unaccepting of that sort of coupling, that he always had to make his life just that much more difficult than it had to be.

But a relationship? Is that what it was he was looking for?

The hunter pressed his lips together in a thin line; He always had to make everything so much more complicated than it had to be. There were so many women out there he should be thinking about and growing old with, it was accepted to marry a woman, it was _accepted_ to live out a normal life with a normal family. However, he knew it wasn't going to be just that simple for him; it never was. Of course not. But it just had to be a man-- and not just any man; but the goddamn Co-CEO of one of the most powerful company's in the world right beside the United Nations. By all means, Crowley was completely out of his league by all standards. God, what was Crowley thinking?

He could have picked anyone he wanted, there are literally hundreds of _thousands_ of men and women that would _kill_ to get in Crowley's pants, just because of who he was and where he worked, his position; not to mention how much money the bastard makes. Any money digger out there would kiss some serious ass to get a piece of the kind of power Crowley had. Not only that, but the guy was-- he was just this great guy in general, and didn't have that stick in the mud, shitty attitude most of his co-workers seem to have.

But why him? Of everyone in the world he could chose from, why the hell did he pick some two-bit hunter who lived in the middle of basically nowhere, and was just fat and happy with where he was. Bobby knew he wasn't a terribly bad looking guy, but there was no way in hell he was _that_ much of a catch. Crowley had to have some low standards in general to pick out the one person nobody would even have the courtesy to give him a sideways glance to.

Bobby sighed, eyebrows furrowing together in frustration. The more he shifted and thought about the topic the more clear his end goal was becoming for him.

He wanted a relationship.

By all means- It had to be that, right? What other reason would he be so desperate to get the Scotsman back to his home? Yeah, he wanted to apologize, he wanted to make things explicitly clear and explain himself, but in what regards does that not point to.. well, _being_ with the guy? To be honest, Bobby hadn't really thought about it before.

The idea was frightening, and by all angles almost unreal and impossible. Bobby's never been interested in a man before, but in the same sense he hadn't been all that interested in women either. Of course there was Karen, but other than that Bobby hadn't seeked out the affection or adoration of another human being, besides wanting a goddamn _thank you_ every once in a while.

But then came Crowley.

Just some guy who crashed his goddamn car and was looking for a little help, who had stumbled on his doorstep and made everything stop and start ticking backwards. That was a little over a year ago, and here he was, waiting for him to show up and find out whether or not whatever's going on between them is even going to work. If he were to think about this a year ago, he would have upturned his fucking nose and called bullshit because there was no way in hell he was going to let some guy waltz into his life and tear down this wall he'd spent so many years making and perfecting around him, encasing him.

But here he was, doing the exact thing he never wanted in the first place.

And then there was the whole issue of it being a homosexual relationship where they'd have to hide it or else they'd get shot by his own goddamn neighbors. They just weren't so- _accepting_ here. By _any_ goddamn means, and they'd have to keep whatever it is they have going on kept in the secret of his own house; that's to say that Crowley actually forgives him, or even gives him the time of day when he stops by.

However, he just continued to stare at his ceiling. The word _fool_ fluttering around his mind and mixing alongside the term _relationship_ and settled against the back of his thoughts when he heard a car door slam.

Bobby tensed up at the sound, head lifting up from the armrest his head was laying against and finally pushed himself upright. The hunter felt suddenly very light headed and contemplated on whether or not this was a very good idea, and with each passing second he realized more and more it most certainly _was not_. Bobby felt shaky but forced himself to take a deep breath and push to his feet, counting every exhale softly under his breath.

Bobby twisted his hands together, fingers digging into the sleeves of his shirts and waited. However, Crowley didn't just walk into Bobby's house like he always did, he knocked. The hunter glanced up at the door, feeling the beginnings of his confusion ebb away when he realized that Crowley didn't feel welcome in his home anymore; after everything that went down, Bobby wasn't exactly able to blame the guy, but it didn't mean that the gesture didn't sting any less.

The hunter glanced at his feet, his tongue brushing over the bottoms of his teeth before walking up to the door. Bobby could hear his heart pounding in his chest as he approached, his steps thudding against the ground. His eyes fluttered over to his forgotten unopened beer resting on his kitchen table, sweating with condensation build-up falling from the brown glass and onto the table-top. It was a sight to see, seeing as it was still the middle of winter.

The hunter turned his eyes to face the door, eyes glancing about it nervously, hands clenching and unclenching apprehensively at his sides before he reached for the knob.

It was dark outside, the cold crisp air of winter fluttering and brushing against his face as the door was pulled open. He hadn't realized the time, but tried not to think about it too much. It wasn't snowing out, but the frozen white flakes still covered the ground, the frost clinging to everything it could touch as far as the hunter could see, however he paid the cold no mind as his eyes dropped to the bundled up man on his doorstep, clutching at his obscenely bright red scarf he seemed so fond of, holding it tightly around his neck, covering his mouth and his cheeks; yet the tip of his nose was exposed, flushed a soft pink from the cold.

His normally warm dark eyes felt colder, hollowed out and distant without looking at him directly.

Bobby shifted on his feet, having a hard time looking at the guy before finally getting out a muttered, "Hey." His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. The only indication that Crowley even heard him was when he raised a brow, but his eyes were still distant, elsewhere. Bobby didn't wait for some sort of response before stepping aside the door, moving out of the way for the man to step inside and get out of the cold. Crowley lifted himself into the far warmer building, the walls surrounding and encasing him but it just so empty.

The whole house felt like a void, and it was sucking the life out of both of them. The tension in their shoulders and in the air around them was suffocating, however, the both of them acted as if they didn't even notice. Bobby closed the door behind the man, his hand hesitating on the door knob, because he knows that if he were to let go, then this would be it, he'd have face whatever was going to happen head on, and deal with the consequences. Bobby knew that he'd have to turn around, that he had to deal with this mess he made but he was so petrified to go any further. After a split second, his hand dropped the the cold knob, letting his hand fall to his sides, keeping himself from tapping his fingers anxiously as he turned to face the brunet.

Crowley was standing there, hovering in the kitchen area and not entirely sure what to do. After a moment he seemed to make some sort of decision and began taking off his coat. His fingers gripped around his red scarf, sliding it off of his neck and draping it against one of the chairs set up at the kitchen table, deft fingers brushing over his zipper of his heavy coat before sliding it down, the noise it caused was loud and careless, however cynical and familiar when the man slipped the dark heavy coat off of his shoulders. He draped this right along with his scarf on the back of the chair, slipping his black leather gloves off of his hands and stuffing them in his coat pocket.

He was still wearing his suit, which told Bobby he hadn't exactly went home after work and came directly here. Guilt nudge around in the back of the hunter's mind, Crowley probably wanted to go home and most likely didn't want to have to do this; neither one of them wanted to be there then and now, but both of them subconsciously knew they had to be, because whatever had happened needed to be sorted out. They couldn't just _leave_ it like that and they both damn well knew it.

"So," Bobby began, clasping his hands together in front of him. Crowley looked up at him, holding this near unreadable expression as he gazed at the hunter. His tongue darted out from between his lips, wetting his lower lip in thought and concentration that he did so often.

"So." Crowley breathed, shifting on his feet a moment, hands shoved deep in his fine-pressed pant pockets and looking just as refined as he always did. Put together and disinterested in a way that seemed to suck the air out of the room. Crowley was closed off and out of reach, and Bobby knew that no amount of talking would get him out of the shell that he forced him in.

He couldn't do this.

Bobby felt his mouth go dry when he tried to speak, shaken when he attempted to go on and he knew he couldn't do this.

A relationship? What the hell was he thinking? There was no way he could go on and do this. There was no way.

How could he? He was a straight man. An average Joe; and he's never been anything but that his entire life, and just because he had a lapse in better judgement, didn't change who he was. And this? This wasn't him, and to be honest he completely doubted it ever would be.

Bobby wasn't ready, he wasn't ready for a change and now that Crowley's standing in front of him, he realizes that yeah- he wants Crowley around, but he can't be in a relationship.

He couldn't do this to himself, and he know's he sure as hell can't do this to the guy that deserves someone better, someone so much better than him and can give him so much more than Bobby ever could.

"Look," Bobby began, the rough palm of his hand rubbing against the back of his neck, he looked away a moment before taking a step forward. He was confused, conflicted, he really didn't know what he was thinking. He wanted something to work, he wanted something to happen, but it can't be a relationship. He can't, he just-- _can't._ "What happened out there-" He swallowed thickly, "That wasn't- It wasn't _me_ , per say. Out there I didn't mean for it to happen the way it did, and I hate that there's this _gap_ between us because of it. But that wasn't- that isn't me. I don't-- well, _swing_ that way. That's not who I am, and it's never going to be who I am-."

"Not who you are?" Crowley drawled, looking up at the hunter with a near disbelieving eyebrow. He looked utterly shocked and bewildered, like he honestly couldn't believe a word he was hearing, eyebrows lifting almost mockingy. His arms from his pockets slipped out, going to cross across his chest. "Not _who_ you _are_? I have a very vivid memory of a tongue down my throat that says otherwise."

Bobby shook his head, "I-I was- drinking, for a majority of the party-" Bobby tried to start, waving his hand idly in circles. "My head wasn't clear, it didn't mean anything."

"It didn't _mean_ anything!?" Crowley snapped, "Don't you _bleeding_ dare brush _this_ off as one of your..- your _drinking_ splurges!" The Scotsmen took an abrupt step forward, "And just because it didn't explicitly _mean_ anything to you, which I can assure you is utter _codswallop_ ," Crowley spat, "Sure as hell doesn't mean the feeling's mutual, but oh, I forgot, everyone's emotions are exactly like yours and nobody can even remotely feel any different, right?" His eyes fluttered mockingly, the sarcasm dripping in his tone. "That's it, isn't it?"

"Crowley that's not what I meant-"

"Stop right there, I'm not finished yet." The Scotsmen growled, "I didn't come here to listen as you grip pathetically at your masculinity and attempt to justify your supposive heterosexuality."

"Will you listen I-!"

"No!" Crowley shouted, his tone raising, "No, for once _you_ listen, you blinded misguided bastard!" His words were drawn out, teeth grinding against one another, feeling wrong on his lips as he shouted them, but he was more or less on a roll now as if he knew that if he didn't get it all out he surely never would. Bobby wanted to retort, to snap back but he held his tongue, it wouldn't do him much good to try.

"I was," Crowley lips pressed together in a thin line, Bobby watched the other, almost as if he was distressed as he spoke, unsure but furious so he can't quite stop himself, the volume in his tone increasing along with the tension building up in the air, the surrounding house deathly quiet outside of the man's near screaming. "I- I was _hoping_ for perhaps some goddamn explanation as to why you pushed me away _after our mouths_ did the tango. But it seems to me that all you've got are these second rate excuses." He sounded breathless, incredulous and borderline on betrayed. "For crying out _loud_ , Robert! When are you going to stop lying to yourself and smell the white rosebuds!"

" _I'm_ lying to myself?" Bobby snarled, "At least I wasn't under some _faulty_ impression that the guy I'm spendin' time with was a goddamn _queer!_ "

Bobby regretted saying it the moment the word slipped past his lips; that's the thing with getting worked up and angry, you loose that filter you prize yourself on. It was brief, but Bobby didn't miss the hurt expression as it slipped passed the other mans face before his facade hardened once again, grimacing.

"Oh ' _queer_ ' real mature. Did you come up with that yourself or did you read it out of the red-neck hand handbook for arseholes?" Crowley sneered, eyebrows furrowing together, arms stiff at his sides. "What is with you? Why can't you just admit that you enjoyed yourself. This-" Crowley waved a forceful hand in his direction, the gesture stiff and snappy. "This whole dick personality is unflattering and unlike you." He frowned, "This isn't you."

"No. This is me," The hunter seethed, "You just failed to read the fine print."

"I didn't-"

"You did-"

"I. _Didn't_." Every syllable was stressed, "How dim do you think I am? I read people for a living, Robert. _A living_. I don't just make blind mistakes, I've _never_ just made blind mistakes, I'd be out of the job if I was so bloody careless, and I certainly didn't _overlook_ the details when it mattered!" He shouted, the anger was evident, but there seemed to be a hint of something else, like the edging of hopelessness in his voice and it tore at every fiber that created the hunter, who brushed it off in his rage.

"I'm not wrong about you," If Crowley were anybody else, he would have sounded desperate, however he wasn't just anybody else; he was Crowley, and he could never sound desperate. "Why can't you just admit to yourself!"

"Admit what!?"

"This!" His arms flung out, gesturing to all of the hunter before they fell back stiffly to his sides, "You! How about you call me back when you're done hiding from your sexuality and willing to actually face it rather than hiding away from it like the _coward you are!_ "

"I'm not a goddamn coward," Bobby clenched his jaw, "Stop acting as if you have any fucking clue as to what you're talking about, because you've _no_ idea who I am." The hunter patronized, his voice raising the more furious he became "You don't even know the first thing about me-!"

"Oh, but you can assure me it's not a coward, right?" The man hissed, his tone dripping in mockery. "Oh, please Robert. I know more about you from the past few months than I know about my own mother, don't you even _think_ about pulling that card."

"You're so full of it." The hunter condescended, the air felt thick around him, his pulse was rapid along with his heart beat, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides but prevented himself from acting rashly. He felt heat rising in his chest, and festering in his arms and head, causing him to see red and feel as if he was on fire and made of air.

"I'm full of it? You don't believe me?" Crowley furrowed his eyebrows, knitting them together, accompanying the scowl on his lips. "Really? So I don't know about how _much_ you enjoy being listened to, right? I've no idea, that it's because all those ingrates out there are utterly incapable of giving you a decent thank you for sacrificing _your_ health and _your_ time to help them out. Of course, that's incorrect, right? Because I've no idea the absolute _first thing_ about you. Is that it?"

"I don't know that your favorite book is Lord of the Flies, because I suppose I'm obviously _never_ around to hear you talk nonstop about it. I must have no idea about that fact that you enjoy getting pampered, or that although you love your filthy rotgut you don't mind switching it up a bit." The man spat out, eyes dancing over the hunters face, "I'm completely clueless to that fact that you took in those boys selflessly and supported the three of you when you were still struggling to pay the bills all on your own!"

Bobby was quiet, fuming to himself but caught unable to speak.

"I'm oblivious to the fact that you've hermitted away and hid in your _sad little hole_ every day since your wife died!"

"Don't you bring her into this!" Bobby bellowed, shoulders hunching defensively.

"Well someone has to say it." The Scotsmen growled, "I didn't know her, I will never know her and I could never compare myself to someone who's dealt with such a surly bastard, and actually _choose_ to be by his side. It's inconceivable, to be bloody honest; and you-?" Crowley swallowed, his expression shifting into something that Bobby couldn't even begin to read, but he couldn't care less too. The rage was building up inside of him and he felt as if he couldn't breathe.

His mind was wiring, he was utterly distraught, furious.

"Do you honestly think she wants you to be like this? Do you honestly think she'd want you to sit around with this- _self destructive behavior_ , eating away at yourself. You're _killing_ yourself you old fool, and for what? What do you gain from suffocating yourself in this stuffy old house with your tired old dog and shoving your wife's memories down your throat because you're so fucking _petrified_ that if you were to actually open yourself up to another that'd you be shaming her memory." Crowley was breathless, hissing his words out, the venom just dripping from his lips. "Do you honestly believe that she'd want to see you like this?"

Bobby hadn't said a word and it was egging on the mans nerves, he wanted a reaction, he wanted _something_ but Bobby just wasn't giving in.

Crowley dragged out his words, every single syllable punctuated and ground out with ever sound he made.

"You hide yourself away _because you're afraid_."

"Yeah? I am afraid. So what?" The hunter snapped, "I'm afraid that if I leave this place I'll finally do myself in, this wall of mine that keeps me safe I won't be able to think straight or clearly anymore. I'm terrified that if I step out of bounds that I'm gong to lose more than I'll gain and I'm tired; I'm so tired. I'm tired of change, I'm tired of feeling so out of place in my own fucking home because of you. I just want things to go back to the way they were and I won't have to worry anymore." The more he spoke the slower his speech became, his tone softening but still held that cold undertone, icy in ways that shot bullets at the business man.

"I'm tired of trying to make things work with anybody but myself. You may know things about me, but you don't know the parts that actually matter." Crowley couldn't hold his gaze anymore, his eyes dropping to his feet, hands falling from around his chest and back into his pockets; the entire gesture was submissive, which put off the hunter a bit, because Crowley was anything but. However, he didn't let it put him off, continuing to speak, because at this point he didn't really believe he could stop.

"I've been through hell in my lifetime, and I'm sure you've been through a lot too, things you haven't gotten around to telling me. Don't think for a second I hadn't noticed how you avoid the topic of your parents as if it were to actually burn you."

Crowley looked up at him, something akin to dismay flashed across his face, stiffening his lower lip and Bobby knew he hit a cord.

"Look, I know." His tone had softened, but there was still that undeniable contempt in his voice, "I know what I'm doing is unhealthy. Hell, I think about it all the time, I just don't care. And then there's you-"

"-And I'm, not," He gesture faintly with one hand, "I'm not worth your time, right? Oh, of course." He sounded hurt, his eyes were anywhere but the hunter, and Bobby could already seen him crawling back into himself, the same exact way he did after the kiss. Like he understood perfectly, but wished it was different. "I've clearly been blinded by my rather irrational affection with you, Mr. Singer."

For some reason, even with the fight, the formality felt wrong when Bobby heard it coming from Crowley's lips. Some part of him didn't want it, but he knew it was for the best. He wasn't what Crowley deserved, and he shouldn't be what he wanted, and he really hoped that Crowley understood that on some level. Bobby wasn't good for anybody, he broke and destroyed everything he touched and this friendship him and Crowley had was just another perfect example of it.

"I'm sorry," Bobby started, feeling smaller, and no better than he did when this all started. If anything else he felt worse. "This just can't work between us."

"Because you don't want it to." Bobby felt a dull sting at that, his voice was so soft at this point, shattered and worn down; feeling the mans eyes on him but he wouldn't catch his gaze.

Crowley scoffed, running his hand over his forehead before pinching the bridge of his nose, "You're so damaged, mate."

"Then get out." The hunter dismissed coldly, "Let me be damaged by myself, I don't need you here to fuckin' mother me, and I sure as hell don't want you breahtin' down my back. So just go on, and git. Go meet someone and live out the rest of your life actually happy, than wasting it here with me."

There was a brief pause, before Crowley finally spoke back up.

"You really think I was wasting it?" Bobby would never admit it to himself, but he know's he heard the hurt in the other's voice, and the fact that he ignored it made him regret that decision every day since. He looked up to see Crowley standing there, suddenly looking out of place, nodding. He was nodding in that way where it looked as if there was a lump in his throat, and he was biting something back, like he was accepting a lie and forced himself to accept it because he know's there was just no way of getting around it; and Bobby won't admit it to himself, but he wanted to take everything that he said back the moment he saw the tears brimming in the other man's eyes.

"Okay." The word came out barely a whisper, the sound of his voice was on the brink of shaken and it hurt more than the hunter would care to admit. Watching as Crowley bit his lower lip, stiffening it as he pulled this unreadable mask over his face. "Okay." And that was it. Like it ended something between them, closing out of their breif and barely lived chapter of their lives, burning a bridge neither was ready to toss out the window, and when Crowley reached over and snagged up his coat, sliding it back on his shoulders and zipping himself back up silently before sliding his red scarf around his neck, Bobby knew it was over. The entire thing was done cynically, as if he was concentrating on every movement to prevent himself from getting hurt, like he was giving it his all not to cry, not bothering to say goodbye or even look in the hunters general direction until he reached the door. He turned to look back at the hunter briefly, as if he had something else to say.

However, whatever it was, he decided against it and left. The door slamming shut and Bobby was left alone in his sad little house once again.

The silence was deafening, wandering over to the table that Crowley stood around, his eyes falling on the beer that had been long since forgotten hours before, and in a fit of rage, he cried out furiously, bring his hand against it and the bottle flung to the nearby wall, crashing. The glass shards falling to the ground lifelessly, the beverage splashing against the wall and falling to the ground, forming a dark puddle but the hunter couldn't care to pay it any mind.

His hands gripped against the back of the chair, his knuckles turning white at the force. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe, but he felt so breathless.

A shaky broken sound escaped his lips, his breathing coming in and out rather heavy and damaged in ways that he knew that Crowley was dead on.

Bobby wanted to take back what happened, but he knew it was for the best. If he let Crowley stay with him, if he let himself fall into that world Crowley was in, he knew for a fact that he'd only drag him down to his level and nobody deserved that.

Crowley was better off without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with the fighting, I went to several different sites trying to figure out how to go about writing it. Especially since they're not just any old fools.
> 
> I had to do a lot of research to make the fighting as good as it could be, so I took reference from numerous fanfictions, multiple friends, websites, even video games in order to get this down the way I wanted it to be. I've rewritten this section quite a few times, because I never really liked how it turned out. I studied their characters in conflict from the show [Most Bobby, but with Crowley I had to visualize the faces he'd be making, his tone of voice, etc.] To be honest this version I wrote was better-- 
> 
> Also, I had chosen the word 'queer' to be a better word, because I had previously had the word 'faggot/homo' there, but after being consulted, I changed it. (Also, I had published it with the 'homo' term there before, but someone had suggested using queer, and I think that fits better? So thank you for that.)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

"Did you get the flour?"

Dean glanced up when he heard the rough voice from over his shoulder, eyes shooting up at his friend before turning to face him, toting the package almost delicately in his grasp.

"Yeah," He cleared his throat, "But I got the um, the cheap brand though." Dean looked over the heavy package in his hands, reading over the labels before setting it in the cart. "The other stuff cost more than my yearly wage." The mechanic grimaced, receiving a thoughtful if not amused glance from his flatmate. Castiel looked it over a moment before turning to stare at the contents on the shelves once more.

"We still need the apple's," He commented idly, "And the cherries."

"And we're all out of sugar too," Dean scratched the back of his neck, going over his mental list. "If you're doing the homemade crust, then I don't have to worry about getting the pans." The mechanic glanced inside of the cart, making sure everything was accounted for.

Castiel was going to this week-late New Years party his medical class was holding. They would have done so on the actual New Year, but evidently his teacher was out of town on business and couldn't hold it then, so it was rescheduled. It wasn't so bad to be completely honest; him and Cas' ended up celebrating the national holiday in their own little way. They watched old 60's and 70's movies, stuffing up on popcorn and debated on who was a better musician of that time. Dean stood by _The Who_ , but Cas' thought _Jimi Hendrix_ was the best. They stayed up late, drinking and shooting the breeze; they ended up falling asleep on the couch to late night television, mumbling softly on Castiel's classic TV set.

Dean found it to be one of his favourite memories; it's been a long time since he's just laid around and enjoyed himself, and Cas really brought out the best in him when things seemed to get rough. He hadn't really thought about celebrating the holiday; him and Lisa barely did. But Cas was so excited for it, talking about all the things he wanted to do for the following year, all his plans and resolutions, and even made Dean promise to make his own. Cas had gotten Dean so excited for the count down, it was honestly refreshing to feel excited about something so small but significant. Dean honestly felt like a kid again when the ball began to drop, and this small home felt full of life when the screen lit up and they could hear the fireworks booming off in the distance.

Cas had cheered, holding a certain excitement that Dean hadn't really seen on him before. He was always so literal, confused, and rather cynical when it came to a lot of different things, and simple emotions such as excitement weren't very common when it came to the angel of a man. However, Cas' had cheered, literally cheered, and pulled Dean into a hug. It was a simple thing, and Dean found himself hugging back almost instinctively, embracing for what felt like eternity before they finally let go.

They talked about their resolutions, and what they wanted to do to fix things up, need it be with family, friends, or in Dean's case ex's; It was then Dean found out how much of a dreamer Castiel was. They've talked before, on plenty occasions; over dinner, or just laying around and watching TV, but this time it felt different. This time it really felt like they were opening up, and it could be because of the high spirits that night, or maybe it was the booze, but Cas had never spoken more words to Dean ever, than he did that night.

He spoke about how much he wanted to help people, about what it feels like to be able to save a life and the kinds of changes he wanted to make. All the things he wanted to do to improve the whole of the world, and how he wanted to make an impact on the human race. It was things Dean remembers hearing from movies, and he didn't think those kinds of dreamers, those kinds of hope's even existed; but here he was, his mouth running a million miles per hour, and it wasn't just with what he was saying, but with _how_ he was saying it that was what truly got to Dean.

Like he really believed he was going to make a difference, and for once, Dean didn't doubt it.

Anyways, Cas' medical professor came back from Eachléim, which by the way, Dean vaguely thinks is a small community in Ireland or some other European area, and informed his students that he was going to hold a bit of a proper get-together at his home, and assigned each of his students to do at least one thing and bring one thing for the party. Cas was instructed to bring some baked goods, such as cookies and cupcakes, and ended up settling on pie; much to Dean's satisfaction.

"Alright, Mr. Medical-Student, what else is there?" Dean queried, counting out their items. They had the flour, vegetable oil, sugar and salt. Dean pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, clenching them slightly, shaking his head softly from side to side in a vague thought induced dance, counting each of the items off one by one. They also had the Nutmeg, cinnamon, eggs and brown sugar; as far as the rest of the ingredients they were going to need, they already had them at home besides the apples and the cherries they were going to have to snag off the shelves. Dean glanced up, eyeing the shelves a moment.

Castiel turned to look at him before his eyes dropped evenly into the cart, scanning through the items much like Dean had been.

"Whipped cream." He finally said after a moment, "And ice cream."

"Now you're talkin', Doc." Dean grinned patting the man's shoulder before grabbing the bar of the cart, pushing it forward with Cas' sauntering beside him. "What kind of flavors are we talking? Neapolitan or plain?"

Castiel shrugged, eyes dancing over the miles of shelves and aisles before he seemed to finally spot the one he was looking for. "Whatever suits our need's, I suppose." He responded, stepping in front of the cart and leading the way past a few aisles, before seeming to spot the one he was looking for. Dean didn't say a word and just allowed the man to take him wherever he needed to be, and assumed that they'd just figure it out when they got there.

They got a hell of a lot more ice cream than what was strictly necessary; Dean stuffing the cart with as much Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough as he could, which Cas' wasn't be any more responsible by getting at least several flavors of ice cream he had never even heard of. Two buckets of whipped cream and a variety of fruits later, and they were finally good to go, splitting the cost amongst themselves and heading back home to get baking as soon as possible.

The whole party was going on tomorrow night, so if they could get finished the day before, then Cas' could spend the day worrying over how he looked rather than if he was truly prepared.

Once they were home and fully satisfied with the amount of groceries they ended up buying, Cas began pulling things from bags, opening containers and snatching his laptop. Cas scanned through a few of his files in utter concentration before finally seeming to find whatever it was he was looking for, his fingers tapping rather insistently on the touch pad before something popped up. He hummed a moment, setting up the device on the counter beside their oven, deft hands reaching for the cabinet doors.

"Dean, could you pull out the flour?" Cas commented over his shoulder, looking through drawers as though he was looking for the secrets of mankind. He scanned each one until he finally found his largest bowl. Dean vaguely nodded, scanning through the plastic bags until he came across it, emptying the bags before crumbling them up and tossing them on their kitchen table to worry about later. Setting things up and out, grabbing the package and setting it beside the laptop, snatching up a few bowls and silverware on his way back to the table.

Cas sauntered over once he seemed to find what he was looking for, toting a rather large bowl in his grasp and a wooden spoon, setting them both down gingerly, the heavy glass of the bowl clattering thickly against the wooden table surface. Cas' slid his trench coat off of his shoulders, setting it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs before rolling up his sleeves, Dean mimicking his movements before finally getting down to business.

"That's not how you stir," Castiel muttered after a good while, eyebrows knitting together while his eyes seemed to trace Dean's hand movements.

The pans were all set out, the cherries washed and the stems pulled. Cas held a knife tightly in his hands, a smaller kitchen knife as he skinned the apples, chopping them into nearly even lengths and setting them in a bowl to rinse and wash once he finished, glancing at the strange way Dean seemed to hold the whisk as if he was stabbing the batter, rather than smoothing it out.

Setting down his knife, Cas' whipped the apple juice on the front of his already flour peppered jeans, stepping up behind the mechanic and taking control of his arms when Dean made a motion to just quit. Cas slid his hands down the man's arms from behind, his hands wrapping along the mechanics wrists.

Dean jerked, nearly pulling away until Cas began switching his hands, making him hold the whisk more firmly before guiding his wrists in firm slow circles. Castiel's other hand was resting on the back of Dean's, which was holding the bowl firmly down on the table and preventing it from steering off. His palms were cold, most likely because of cutting the apples, but it didn't make much of a difference as the texture and temperature sent shivers down the mechanics spine. They were soft, patient in a way an angel would be with an awestruck human, in a way that someone would be to a child, and just how he went around doing so made Dean feel as if he was a puppet, letting his limbs be controlled for the moment until the muscles in his arms began to mimic the others.

Dean's breath caught in his throat, feeling the other strong hand's steer his own so carefully and gentle, as if he were some patient with an incurable disease, as if Castiel was letting out the bad news slowly, so it didn't strike out and tear him apart, but in the same sense, try to get it over with. Feeling like a broken doll; Cas' had full measured strokes with Dean's wrist, the circles in the batter seemed to loosen, and the cinnamon-made mixture was almost complete. Dean swallowed thickly, trying to keep his mind on mixing and taking control of the movements, but Cas' didn't seem to think he'd finish it without his guidance.

It felt funny, having Castiel pressed against his back, breathing against his ear. His mind blank until his thoughts began to pick up, over wiring and nearly tangible until he felt those cool hands slip away, and the warm body pressed against his back drift off and move next to him like before. Never saying a word as he grabbed up his knife and apple and began cutting once again.

Dean was speechless for an abundance of moments before he caught himself, shaking his head ever so slightly before grabbing the bowl and stepping away.

They were silent for what felt like forever, working around one another as best as they could. Castiel was inherently doing most if not all of the work. Dean stirred things every now and again, but Cas was the one putting the ingredients together, he was the one making the art and putting up the finishing touches to everything, and every time he would try to get Dean to do something, he'd make some irreversible mistake and nearly have a fit until Cas' helped him brush it off, before making his way with the mishap and somehow used his doctor _mojo_ to make it work.

Cas always seemed to make things work.

The entire incident with Cas' leading him to stir was the furthest thing from his mind when he sliced his hand trying to help Cas' finish off cutting the apples, dropping the knife and the slices onto the cutting board. Cursing under his breath, Dean unconsciously snagged his hand to look at the damage. His face was scrunched up in pain as his blood seeped up from his pierced skin, hearing Cas move from a little ways over to his side in moments.

"What happened?" He questioned, his delicate hand reaching for the mechanics palm to see the extent of the damage. Dean tried to pull away, brush it off like it was nothing but Cas persisted he see it, and to be honest, it felt nice to have someone fuss over him. Cas was asking silent permission to open up the curling palm of the mechanic hand; Dean winced, but carefully unraveled his fingers, spreading his hand out.

The cut wasn't too deep, but it hurt like a son of a bitch, hissing when the medical student held the wound open.

Both of their hands were covered in food product, and felt a bit sticky to the touch, so Cas lead him over to the sink, quickly setting up the temperature before placing their hand's under the spray.

The mechanic jerked in pain, but Castiel held his hand under, attempting to clean it out as best as he could with as much as he could; Dean chewed his lower lip roughly, trying desperately to keep his pained noises to a minimum.

" _Fuck_ , Cas." He ground out, "That _stings-_ "

"Hold still, Dean." Castiel muttered, grabbing some soap to clean off around the edges, careful not to get anything in the wound before finally shutting off the faucet. One hand reached behind him, feeling around until his fingers brushed against a towel, sliding it off of the counter and placing it on the mechanics hand, ordering him to keep pressure before darting off and out of the kitchen.

Dean watched him go, eyes glancing down at the cloth, using his thumb to hold the pressure down until Cas returned. The medical student was holding a simple first-aid kit in his hands when he finally darted back into the room, one that looked unsurprisingly familiar to the one that Bobby kept in his upstairs bathroom cabinet. It reminded him of those times him or Sam would skid up their knee's or elbows as a kid, and Bobby would bring them to the kitchen table, hoisting them up as little kids and making their " _boo-boo's_ " all better. The memory almost made him smile, but the immense stinging in his hand prevented that from happening.

"Alright, don't move." Cas instructed, peeling away the towel that was already getting blood soaked. He held the back of the mechanics calloused hand, while Dean tried to keep it steady by clinging to his own wrist. Cas examined it a moment, popping open the kit before pulling out some anti-bacterial wipes.

It stung quite a bit, but Dean kept himself from bitching about it.

"You've got to be more careful, Dean." Castiel said quietly, eyes watching each stroke he made with the wipes, trying to see how deep it was, making small decisions in his head off of his findings. His eyes flickered up to the man's face and down to his injury and back again, shifting between them to see the small tremors in the mechanics face, with what hurt and what didn't.

Dean watched in a near mesmerization, his hands moving gracefully and swiftly, each motion was smooth and careful. Everything Cas ever seemed to do was smooth and careful, graceful in that clumsy sort of way at times. Dean glanced up at him, but Castiel wasn't looking at him anymore, but rather staring intensely at his palm, deep blue eyes that looked like the sky just after the sun had finally set; crisp like ice, but warm like a blanket.

"I told you, I'm not good with-" Dean gestured with his head to the ingredients still scattered about the counters and table, "-Cooking, baking, _any_ of that Martha Stewart crap."

Castiel made an amused sound in the back of his throat, "You don't have to be good at something to enjoy it."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Then what's the point?"

"The point is, is that you enjoy it." Cas' looked up at him, watching him a moment before his eyes drifted back down to the palm, wrapping the wound up in gauze right after rubbing disinfectant on it, carefully spinning the white fabric tightly over the skin. "It doesn't matter whether or not you're talented or if what you do is ' _any good_ ' because if you enjoy yourself, that's all that matters." Dean watched him, hands moving skillfully in time. "Right?"

"I don't know, man." He muttered in response, "Even if you enjoy doing something, why do it if you're no good at it? How's that any fun?"

Dean thought about the car's he worked on regularly, how he enjoyed doing it, how he was good at it. He couldn't imagine having fun fixing car's if he had no idea what he was doing. 

"You're missing the point," The medical student breathed, pulling out a bit of medical tape and wrapping it around the gauze. His hands paused, straightening his previously hunched back to look directly at the mechanic, his face thoughtful and contemplative. "You see, Dean-" He began, fumbling on his wording a moment before seeming to figure something out in his head.

"If you enjoyed drawing," Castiel started again, thumbs brushing over the tape, flattening it out and stroking it down. "You loved the feeling of a pencil in your hand, and how you can make it move. To feel the paper under your fingertips and against the side of your palm, and it just made you feel so good, even if you didn't think you were a good artist, even if you didn't think what you made ever turned out the way you wanted it to; but you continued to draw." Castiel was watching him with a steady and unwavering gaze. "Why would you stop drawing?"

Dean opened his mouth, but let it fall shut once again. He raised his brow and turned his head in mock recognition. "You got me there."

"Take me, for example." Castiel continued on his thought. "I've never baked before, my mother would when I was much younger, and when I lived with Lucifer, he would be the one to bake. I always enjoyed the smells and how it was done, but I had never done it before." His hands stopped moving, but he never let go of the mechanics wrist and palm. "I enjoy the idea of baking, even though I'm no good at it." He tilted his head towards his computer screen which was darkening from lack of use. "Unless of course I have guidance. I enjoy baking, and I enjoy baking with you." His lips pressed together, seeming to swallow before continuing. "Why would I give that up?"

Dean was at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing several times until he felt his friend release his hand.

"C'mon, Dean. We need to get these pies done." And with that, he stepped away.

Dean felt as if he was gaping, but after a long moment, pulled his jaw up and closed his mouth, pressing his lips together until finally pushing his way over to cutting the apples again.

After that, time seemed to fly by in near silence, besides the sound of the knives hitting the cutting boards and the even sound of their breathing. They worked for a while like that, quiet until Cas finally put the pieces of the pies together, pre-heating the oven as he did so. Dean nearly cut himself on several occasions, but for the most part was relatively unharmed. He placed the covering on their last pie, pinching the edges and cutting a few slivers on top so the steam could release, and in a moment Cas had taken it and slid it into the oven.

"So how many is that?" Dean was the first to break the silence, and he could practically see Cas' ear's perking at the sound.

"Nine." He responded, closing the oven and pushing in the time. They had four in the oven, and the other five were still uncooked and sitting on the stove top. "Nine pies altogether."

"How many do you think we'll be able to keep?"

"If we have a few left over from the party, those will be ours." Cas turned away from the stove, the palms of his hands leaning against the bar-handle with his back pressed against it. Cas was covered in flour and several other things Dean couldn't even think to name, his hair had to have some eggs in it, and there were smudges dancing over his face; However, Dean didn't think his situation was any better.

"I think we should keep one," Dean said after a few fluttering seconds, "Just in case they all get eaten."

"Why would we do that?"

Dean rolled his eyes, sighing breathlessly. "Because that's what people do Cas', they eat their work." He took an idle step forward, "C'mon, just one. Nobody at your New Years party is going to miss one apple pie."

"You don't know that Dean-"

"Cas, just trust me on this." Dean cut him off, "One pie will _not_ be the end of the world."

Cas looked unsure, almost as if he felt guilty taking one for himself. It made Dean wonder what kind of morals went on in his house growing up that'd make Cas not want to keep one selfishly. Although it wasn't really selfish, it was just one out of nine, it wouldn't make a huge difference.

"Just one, and we can have some ice cream and whipped cream." He grinned, "If it makes you feel better, just think of it as us making sure the pie's are all good. Nothing poisoned or whatever-"

"None of of the pies are poisoned-"

"You don't know that," Dean persisted lightly, "That's why we should test one, you know, _just to make sure._ " He raised his hands in that universal reassuring gesture. However, Castiel just continued to look uncertain, "It'll just be one pie, man. Nobody will care, and if someone does, just tell them that I ate it all by myself and you didn't have time to make another."

Cas couldn't seem to stop the smile as it pressed against the sides of his lips, rolling his head in good nature to the side, the breath falling from his lips nearing a sigh that never happened. "I'll think about it."

"Strong maybe?" Cas waved him off but he persisted, "A very strong maybe?"

"It's about to be a very strong no." Cas teased, and Dean lifted his hands in mock defeat.

"Duly noted."

Later that night that ' _strong maybe_ ' happened to be a ' _strong yes_ ' because Cas sauntered into their shared living room with two plates of pie and some Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream slowly melting right beside it. The apples were still steaming, and the sound that Dean made when he saw it was nearly inhuman, scooting to his side to give Cas' room to sit beside him.

"So the Med-student caved, yeah?" Dean grinned, glancing at his friend and holding the plate delicately in his hand. He grabbed the metal fork between his fingers, making to cut the tip of the pie off, sticking it and pulling it up to his lips. He groaned when he took his first bite, nodding appreciatively.

"Taste like heaven." He said with a stuffed face, cheeks puffed out with hot apple slices stuffed in them. Castiel chuckled, taking his first bite; needless to say his reaction wasn't as strong as Dean's, but still equally as pleasant.

"Well," Dean began after swallowing, "It's not poisoned."

Castiel snorted, "Good, I can still go to the party."

Dean let out a laugh, taking another bite of his pie. "Who all is going to be there?"

"You," Cas said between bites, "If you want to."

"Really?" Dean raised his brows, swallowing before continuing. "They'd let that?"

"Of course," Castiel answered, scrunching up his face in perplexion. "There's no reason for you not to be allowed."

"I guess," The mechanic said after a moment, "It just seemed like a ' _student only_ ' kind of thing."

"People are bringing dates and friends," Castiel elaborated, looking back down at his plate to get a scoop of his ice cream, along with another bite of pie, the flavours mixing together almost flawlessly. "Anna is largely a people person, I doubt she'll mind the extra company."

"Anna?"

"My professor."

"What?" Dean shot him a confused look, "Wait, I thought your professor was a guy?"

"Why would you think that?" Cas furrowed his brows together, shooting the mechanic a look.

"I uh-" Dean paused, "I could have sworn you said your teacher was a dude."

Cas' muffled a near taunting chuckle, "I _never_ said that." He took another bite.

"Yes you did," Dean mocked Cas' tone, who in response elbowed him, finishing off his food.

They were quiet for a while after that, watching whatever was on TV, which wasn't really much. Old shows they never had much care for, flickering across the medical students screen. They sat in a comfortable silence, their plates sitting on the glass coffee table in front of them, an unopened beer besides Castiel's plate, and a half empty one besides Deans.

Dean tapped his fingers against the side of his leg, making a soft tune to a song the doctor's assistant couldn't recognize. His lips were pressed in a hard line, pushed over to the right in contemplation, looking at the screen but not really watching it; Dean dragged his teeth over his lower lip, his tongue poking out a moment as he licked his lower lip.

"Hey, Cas." Dean began, his tone uplifted in query. Castiel turned his head slightly to look at him, humming in acknowledgement for him to continue. Dean chewed on his words, swishing them in his mouth and almost unwilling to spit them out. "Do you like spending time with me?"

"Dean?"

"No, like-" He hesitated, "Like- Do you just- y'know, enjoy spending time with me? Like you sit there and think, ' _this isn't so bad._ ' y'know?"

Castiel's eyes scanned over the mechanics face who wouldn't look him in the eye, his attention glued to the screen he was barely watching. Cas sucked in a deep breath, vaguely nodding. "I suppose."

That didn't seem to be the answer Dean was aiming for, because his face fell-- looking sort of troubled, doubtful, eyes glancing away from the screen and landing on Cas'. His face contorted in frustrated confusion, falling to his side. "Man, that's not good enough." His voice was breathed out, rough. He was shooting for something, and to be honest Cas' doesn't know if he's ever heard Dean sound so disappointed before.

"I don't know what you want to hear." Castiel said slowly, letting his hands that were resting by his sides lay on his lap, leaning forward in his seat. Dean's eyes were darting everywhere as if his thoughts were tangible and he was just trying to sort them out, read them and place them somewhere safe.

"Just, I don't know, man-" The tapping on his leg stopped, "Just-- _something_ Cas'." He shifted in his seat, "You like being around me, don't you?"

Castiel was silent a moment, something seeming to finally click. "This is about Lisa, isn't it?"

Dean was silent a long moment but that was all reassurance Cas needed to hear.

"Dean-"

"No-" His voice sounded harder, more urgent, "Just-- just, forget it." Dean tried to wave it off, a soft flush hitting his cheeks. "Don't even know why I brought it up."

"Dean, if you need to talk about it-"

"No, I don't." The mechanic cut him off, "I'm fine, there's nothing to talk about, I don't know what I was even going to say, it's nothing so just drop it."

Castiel sighed, watching as Dean pushed himself to his feet abruptly, snagging both of their plates to presumably take them to the sink. He was stepping away when Cas finally spoke up.

"What you're feeling is valid, I hope you understand that."

"Cas', just drop it-"

"No, Dean." His eyebrows furrowed, "The whole situation with Lisa is a messed up one that you'd been thrown in the middle of. You can't control everything Dean, you can't fix everything, though you'll try." Dean's back was turned to him, shoulders tense and he couldn't see his face, but Cas didn't stop. His breath felt heavy in his throat, but Dean needed to hear it, and he needed to say it. "You're a good man, Dean. You raised a kid that didn't belong to you, you put together a family that was drifting, and you want your life back. I don't blame you."

Dean was silent, but it didn't put the medical student off. "Human's are flawed, Dean. You're flawed, Lisa's flawed, even I'm flawed, and that's what makes us human. It's how we handle it that make's us who we are, and you try to be better, I know you do; you try to make everything better and fix what's broken but you can only do it for so long."

"Lisa just was just another chapter to your story," Castiel's voice was growing softer the longer he spoke, "And one day it'll be someone else, you just need to find that person who'll stick out the rest of your's."

Dean didn't say a word, his head turning and when he didn't hear Cas say anything more he continued to walk. However, once he reached the doorway, he heard Cas' say one last thing.

"I do, by the way."

Dean paused, confused. "Do what?" Dean asked over his shoulder.

Castiel's reply was soft, but loud enough for the mechanic to just barely hear.

"Enjoy your company." He responded, "I always have."

Dean opened his mouth, to come up with some sort of reply but none came. He felt a vague warmth manifesting in his chest but he ignored it, stepping out of the room and into the kitchen; the smell of pies wafting in the air but he didn't pay the sweet warm smells much mind.

Placing the plates into the sink, he thought of Lisa.

Then he thought of Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you guys needed a break from Crobby for a tad, especially after the fight, so before we head back on the bandwagon this was your breather chapter. It's not a filler, and Cas' and Dean's relationship are going to play a good role in later chapters [same with Sam/Gabe] so it's /important/ you read these guys, I don't write these chapters for my health. They're just as important as the Crobby and they give a better back story and on occasion help push the story along.
> 
> It's come to my attention that a few people skip them entirely-- If you don't care for the Destiel or the Sabriel, then I /advise/ [VERY MUCH RECOMMENDED] you to at least scan for the good bits with the back story rather than skipping it entirely. [I don't mind if you choose not to read the mushy bits, my sister isn't too fond of them either.] Just skim them so you have at least the basic idea with certain characters [I didn't just put Destiel and Sabriel in my story because I just wanted them there, they play an important role.] So I hope you at least look them over, otherwise certain parts of this story might not make much sense to you. Thank you for reading anyways and I hope you enjoyed.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

"The hell's a California Condor?"

Bobby's ears perked but didn't turn around, fingers skittering over the bindings of his personal library. His eyes scanning over the names and trying to find the one he was looking for. Something called _After the Grizzly_ he was pretty sure was written by a guy named Peter. However, no matter how many times he looked his books over, it just wasn't there. After a long dragging moment of lengthy stares at his bound books, he breathed out, exhaling excessively loudly.

"It's kinda like a vulture," He finally said, turning away from his bookshelf and making his way over to his desk, feet thudding against the floor. "Big birds, that eat dead animal carcasses." His tongue brushed over his lower lip, hands pushing aside notes and papers on his desk; soft crinkling seemingly erupted as he moved things around, papers brushing and sliding against paper, a page getting caught and got wedged underneath one of Bobby's heavier books. There has to be _something_ here-- Some book he might have over looked, or misread; besides didn't he use to get mailed the article's in _Extinction weekly_? He can't imagine having thrown them all out. He doesn't throw anything out.

Meg took another bite of her sandwich, eyes steady on Rumsfeld who was laying only a few feet away, holding her gaze. He was begging and Bobby honestly has no idea where he learned to do that, he's never begged for food before. He had this gnawing feeling that it had something to do with Crowley- actually, he _knows_ it has something to do with Crowley. Faintly remembering those times he'd walk into the room with Crowley sprawled out on his couch, holding up a fry or a treat of some sort, telling Rumsfeld to ' _sit pretty_ '- and Rumsfeld would sit on his hind legs, watching the others hand before he tossed it. Bobby used to think it was amusing, but the more he thought about it, the more bitter the hunter felt. Bobby tried to shake himself from allowing his mind to wonder; after that fight? There was no need for it. Him and Crowley weren't on the best of terms, and by all accounts through, and he sure as hell had no intention of wallowing in the past.

Meg had been looking at the abundance of papers, er- more or less _notes_ he had scribbled down right beside his phone. Bobby had a few things scrawled and sketched down, thoughts on the bird along with what he knew, but other than that he didn't have much, or really _know_ much about the creature altogether.

Apparently Ellen had spotted one by her Roadhouse, specifically around the area little Jo would play. The bird's huge in every sense of the word, and honestly pretty hard to miss. Ellen had rightfully assumed that the Condor would go after her kid; and _although_ Bobby didn't think that it would have been a problem, again, he didn't know. The hunter had told her time and time again to get a computer, because for one, he's not Google, and two, the amount of calls he get's in a day is downright ridiculous. Yeah, maybe by this time he should have bought a computer for himself, but he's never been technological savvy, and Ellen was right behind him in that steam powered train. She called him in a panic, frantically trying to explain what she saw, even though she didn't know the breed, it wasn't that hard to put two and two together. The wingspan was a rather large give-away.

Bobby wasn't sure what to tell her, other than to not let Will or Ash shoot at it. He had no idea whether or not it was an endangered species, or why the hell a _California_ Condor was spotted in Nebraska. Regardless, he couldn't have them shooting at something that could potentially get them thrown in jail, so he was trying to find the damn book he _knew_ he owned that told him so. Becoming frustrated when the title to a book he's seen damn near _a thousand times_ is not where it's supposed to be.

"Is that what you do?" Meg glanced away from his dog, upturning to watch his hands burrow through the garbage on his desk. "Bird watch?"

"What?" Bobby actually looked at her this time around, face scrunched up before abruptly shaking his head, turning back to his desk. "I don't bird watch," The way it was said was borderline on defensive. "I hunt."

"You hunt birds?" Bobby might have laughed if he wasn't so frustrated.

"No." He shot back lamely, sidestepping around his desk to open up the drawers from where he sits, pushing things aside and digging through them. "Well-" He paused, seeming to go over his words again. "I mean I _can_ , but I hunt a bigger variety than that."

"People included?" Bobby snorted, bending his knee's as he reached into a lower drawer, sliding it open. The metal on the bottom screeched obscenely, Rumsfeld ducked his head, ears dropping as if he had done something wrong. He hated loud sounds, especially metallic ones; Bobby had tried to help him get over his irrational fear, but nothing he ever tried works, so he just let him be afraid and reassured him that whatever made the loud sound won't hurt him. It was almost funny; Rumsfeld wasn't fazed by the sound of a shot gun, but god forbid you open a squeaky drawer.

When Bobby didn't make to respond, Meg just continued, barely missing a beat.

"Because I hear you're one hell of a chest-shot." She tossed, "That your bullets go straight through the heart."

Bobby's hands paused, mouth falling open as he tried to snap back but nothing came to mind. He sighed, he did that a lot now-a-days, couldn't seem to help it anymore as he pushing himself to his feet, glancing at Meg who seemed to already have her eyes steady on him. She was almost expressionless, despite her eyebrow having been raised.

Bobby breathed, "I thought you came here to collect his things," He stated almost matter of factually. "Not clean up his messes."

"Look at you," Her tone sounded accusing, "You can't even say his name."

Bobby dropped his head into the palms of his hands, he really should have seen this coming. Meg didn't even attempt to hide the fact that she knew, and Bobby honestly wouldn't put it past Crowley for talking to her. She was never subtle in her approaches, that was for sure; maybe that's why Crowley liked her so much, maybe Meg intended for it to be obvious, maybe Meg intended a lot of things. She set her nearly finished sandwich back on her plate, sliding it away on the cushion and tossing her magazine onto the floor; pulling her legs up and crossing them on the couch, hands holding her ankles. 

"You know, there's a hell of a lot of different ways to reject someone, but somehow you did the exact one you weren't supposed to."

Bobby pulled off his cap, tossing it onto his sloppy desktop, a few papers falling off and seeming to fly miles away as they finally settled onto the floor. He groaned weakly, brushing back a few strand hairs away and towards the back, taking a step to his seat before slumping into it.

"What'd he tell you?" He enervated, but Meg merely leered at him, head cocking to the side faintly.

"Absolutely nothing."

"Then how the hell-" Bobby tried to start but stopped himself, catching on to what she was trying to do and frowned. "What? Do you want me to admit that I was wrong? Apologize?"

Meg looked at him, her eyes scanning his hardened face a moment before shaking her head. "No." Her tone sounded lower than he remembered it being. "No, I _want_ you to _want_ to do those things." She grabbed her legs, uncrossing them and folding them up, pressed against her chest before wrapping her arms around them. "You know running from your problems never solves anything, big boy."

"The hell would you know?" He snapped, Meg leered her head; shooting him an unimpressed look.

"Your not the only one with a fair share of secrets, cupcake." She drawled, "And getting angry is exactly my point."

When Bobby opened his mouth Meg cut in before he could, "Look, I'm not asking you to step outside and scream you're gay." Bobby's face scrunched up, the words ' _I'm not-_ ' fell from his lips but Meg spoke over him, "I'm not even saying you are-" Looking at him pointedly, her eyes were enough to cut off any remark he had festering in his mouth. "but why the hell should it be so shameful for a guy to want to be with another guy, huh?"

For all the things Bobby wanted to say, he just didn't have a response for that.

"And why the hell are you so hard on yourself?" She continued. "Is it really so hard to look at another guy and think ' _yeah, I don't mind waking up to this every morning._ '?" Meg was incredulous, "Honestly, Bobby. Did you even _see_ how happy you were? You were like a-" Waving her hands in short circles, trying to come up with an analogy that would make sense, but couldn't seem to come up with one that seemed to really _fit_. "You looked at him as if he was your _fairy tale_ and I don't understand why you'd be so whiling to just give that u-"

"Look, I don't-" Bobby cut in before she could finish, not entirely sure if he could listen to it. "I don't need you to tell me what I already know, alright?" He chewed on his tongue. "Whatever was going on before, aware or unaware of it, it's over now. There's no need for you to be here to pick up the piece's because I've already swept them under the rug, you got that?" He stated in a way as if trying to end the conversation, or cut it off before they head too deeply into it. Meg looked as if she wanted to say more but seemed to think better of it, pushing to her feet and grabbing her plate.

"Alright, big boy. Whatever you say." She breathed, obviously not wanting the conversation to end but know's there's really no use in arguing. Bobby had his mind set, and she know's that no amount of convincing was going to change that. "I've gotta start headin' out anyways." Eyes glancing down at her watch, her eye's widening before cursing under her breath. "Dammit, I'm late." She dropped her arm, face shifting into one of annoyance. Meg placed her plate on the hunter's desk, making her way around to give the stubborn man a hug before she began heading out. Pressing an obscenely loud kiss to his cheek, as she pulled away. "I'll call you later." The side of the hunter's lips upturned as he watched her snatch up her plate again, grabbing the nearly finished sandwich and tossing it to Rumsfeld, who just barely caught it.

After she was gone Bobby spent hours going through and searching every book he owned, checking under his desk, in drawers, under the couch and even in his sink but he couldn't find damn thing anywhere. It was a tannish, faded looking colour, and honestly stood out like a sore thumb among his large collection of tomes and volumes, seeing how small it was compared to most of them. Bobby probably searched and scanned over every inch of his house at least three dozen times, excessively returning to the place he _swears to god_ it should be, borderline on denial that it wasn't sitting where it's supposed to.

After scanning and triple checking his house out, he finally came to the conclusion that it just wasn't there. He muttered bitterly to himself, snagging his jacket off the back of his chair and hastily slid it on, arm movements jerking and choppy in his frustration. He figured that the nearby Library would have something, and if he was lucky they'd have the one he was looking for, he just hoped that they had the book on stock; he's already wasted enough time as it was trying to find the book, and Ellen wouldn't appreciate him taking his sweet time about it.

Rumsfeld barked after him as he ran out of the house; cold air seeming to burst around him, the door slamming shut behind him as he jogged up through the snow to his truck. Ellen had called him about six or seven hours ago, and that mean's she's been dealing with the Condor for approximately nine. If he can find the book, and that's saying that it takes him at least 30 minutes to get a hold of it, counting in the drive to and from the library, it would be about ten or eleven hours altogether for her to finally get the information she need's from him. Not including the time it'd take for them to either shoot the damn thing, or call animal control to transfer it back to California.

He knew he had to hurry, because he doesn't know what they planned to do, or even if they were patient enough to wait for his signal; so far he hadn't gotten a call from them announcing they shot it, so that was still good at least. Still, Ellen wasn't going to be in the best of moods when he finally does get a hold of her; it doesn't take 10 hours to tell someone whether or not an animals endangered or not.

Starting up his truck, he pulled out of the Salvage Yard, maneuvering his vehicle until he was onto the streets. Inside of his truck felt like a still dry frost, causing him to shiver. However, he knew it'd be fruitless to try and turn on the heating, seeing as by the time he gets to the Library, it'd just be _starting_ to get warm. Bobby gripped the steering wheel tightly, glancing at the watch on his wrist. It was a mere 10 minute drive to the Library, unless of course he was speeding, seeing as it was only a few miles away; it really should only take about 10 minutes at the very _most_ to track down the book and check it out- if nothing else, be able to scan through it while he's there, scribble down the notes he need's before calling her up again. He can't remember whether or not he snatched up his phone or left it at home, which he's been doing an awful lot lately, however he figured the extra time with him driving back home and not calling them on the spot wouldn't kill anybody.

The engine hummed steadily, hearing the skidding crunch of gravel on the road as he drove. White flakes hit the windshield, melting and turning into frozen rain, eyes trying to look past the flakes in his view as he paid attention to the road. It wasn't snowing harshly outside, and the soft pale flakes were actually drifting rather softly. It was clear outside, for the most part; the sky clouded over, and the grounds covered in feet of snow, but today was the first day in week's the weather had been exceptionally kind.

The hum of an engine was relaxing to the hunters ears, there was just something about hearing the steady purr as he drove that could always somehow relieve his tension. Helped him think straight; the time flying by as he was evaluating his options. Whatever was the quickest way to and from the Library, or the quickest and easiest way on how to get the information to her. It was a familiar feeling when being on a hunt, it was that tangible mind set he was so used to, so accustomed to; like a machine evaluating data, going through the motions as if it were a second nature. Mentally checking off his list of things he needed to have to give to Ellen and Will; like numbers to call, how to deal with the creature, if they need to lure it closer or away from them, whether or not it was endangered or if they were a government protected species. It was an abundance of things he had to know to give to them, it wasn't just as quick ' _shoot first and ask questions later_ ' kind of hunt. No, this wasn't some disposable Raccoon, or rat infestation. These were the hunt's Bobby lived for, the rare animals he didn't hear much about.

Bobby didn't think he got enough of these interesting cases.

Pulling into the Library parking lot, he quickly parked his truck a little ways from the building a bit closer to the road, jumping out of his seat and slamming the door shut. It was a bit colder outside, seeing as the sun was already getting ready to set- which in itself was hard to tell, considering the clouds were covering the sky like some sort of thick grey blanket. His eyes scanned over the cars briefly, noticing subconsciously that it was a bit more busier today than it normally was. Was there something going on inside? Was today some national holiday he didn't know about? Well, there wasn't _that_ many car's, but there was a great deal more than the average three sitting in the lot. Bobby shook the thoughts away, it really didn't matter at that much. Jogging his way to the door, narrowly avoiding the darker slushed snow that's been mixed with a bit too much dirt and melted by polluted car engines as he made his way inside.

It was significantly warmer inside, the hunter feeling it wrap around and engulf him. Small shivers ran through his spine, the sudden change in temperature effecting him faintly as he tried to keep them under control. Bobby breathed against his palms, rubbing them together to create some sort of friction to warm them up, eyes darting around the building curiously as he started walking away from the door. It looked significantly different, but he couldn't pin point exactly _what_ was different when he very suddenly heard his name. His head snapped up and over to see Meg standing a little ways over, waving at him. He instantly recognized the person she was standing by as Ruby, who he _still_ can't pinpoint as to why her name sounds so goddamn familiar. His eyebrows raised a moment before furrowing together, shooting her a crooked and confused smile as he made his way to where they were standing.

"Hey hotshot," Meg greeted, hip pressed against the front counter. "I was supposed to call you not the other way around." She grinned, chuckling noiselessly, "Still couldn't find your book?"

Bobby grinned at her in slight bewilderment, still in a bit of shock at seeing her. It wasn't often he ran into people he knew in public, regardless if he'd only seen them a few hours before. "Uh yeah-" He checked his watch, he was still good on time. "I figured they'd have it here." His eyes glanced up at her, catching sight of one the the 'A' workers. Alazlester or something. Azazy? Azazzle Dazzle. Bobby gave up trying.

"What's going on here?" Bobby questioned, "Is this the thing you were running late for?"

Meg nodded, "Yeah, Lilith is trying to find some way to improve a few sections of the company and the _princess_ -" She spat out the mocked endearment grossly, "couldn't be bothered hiring actual professionals to do the dirty work." She leaned over on her opposite foot, head tilting over to her friend and brushed a few stray hairs out of her face.

Bobby chuckled, "I know how that feels." Getting told what to do by people who really should be consulting a professional is actually all he does for a living.

Meg scrunched up her nose, "Figured as much." She inclined her head to Ruby, "Rube's and I gave up a couple hours ago." She crossed her arms, Bobby's eyes glancing over at Ruby who merely shifted on her feet, not saying much. "For fuck's sake we're deal makers, not construction workers. I work behind a desk for a reason." Scratching the underside of her jaw line, she breathed out remorsefully. "Well, we sent Gadreel to take care of our stack because he already finished up his own."

"Gadreel?" That's a new name.

"New guy." It was Ruby who spoke up this time, her voice sounding a bit rougher than he remembered it being. "He's in my division." She didn't sound real proud of that. To be honest the words sounded really petulant coming out of her mouth. "He's like a little puppy right under the division manager, Metatron." Bobby shifted on his feet, wondering really just how many divisions and branches Purgatory Placements had.

The hunter, as screwy at it sort of seemed, began seeing a pattern with all these weird ass names. Meg seemed to be the only one who didn't fit in that category, or have a name that just _really_ stood out; unlike Gadreel, Lilith, Azazzle Dazzle, Crowley- All of them were extremely unusual, and he wondered if he was the only one who seemed to notice. Was that in the job description for Purgatory Placements or something? _Be a genius with a name you can't find on a key-chain_.

"What? What's wrong with Megatron?"

Ruby snorted, "No it's uh,-" She cleared her throat, regaining herself. "Uh, _Meta_ tron. He's not a transformer, although I wouldn't put it past him to want to be." Shoving her hands into her jean pockets, the backs of her hands sticking out, seeing as the pockets were tiny and furthermore useless. "He's a sexist, racist, homophobic pig whose scared to death of his co-manager Abaddon-" Now _that_ name rings a few bells, his mind shifting to that night he had first gone over to Crowley's for food. He felt a tug in his chest at the thought and really tried not to think about it, trying to pay attention to what Ruby was saying.

"-Whose a complete _bitch_ by the way." Ruby continued acrimoniously, "She has him right under her thumb and I really don't see why. There's nothing all that stunning or really scary about her. Just her attitude need's adjusting." Meg muttering an _amen to that_. "It's all of them running the lower levels besides Azazel and Alastair." Pushing her long hair from her shoulders to her back. "Metatron, Abaddon, and Dick."

Bobby pressed his lips together, obviously put-off by the name, not all that sure what it was the guys name her she really hated the guy, ears perking when he heard Meg chuckle. "She's not callin' him a dick, that's his actual name." Meg smirked, taking notice of the hunters vaguely confused expression. "Although he really lives up to the title."

"Uh huh." Ruby rubbed her temples, brushing her spider-like fingers through her hair. "He manages some of the lower divisions, although I _really_ don't know what they do down there." Ruby croaked, "Him and Abaddon are close, and Gadreel's their poor little lackey, but I really don't feel all that bad for him."

"Are they here?" Bobby questioned, and Ruby merely shook her head.

"No, thank god." She breathed, frowning faintly, "I would have pulled my hair out, I'm sick to death of them."

"You're not the only one." Meg mused, eyes shifting from her friend and back to the hunter. "And didn't you come here to find something?"

Bobby's eyebrows snapped up. _Ball's_ , he forgot about that. His eyes glanced down at his watch again, seeing three minutes already passed and gone. "Uh, yeah-"

"Yeah sorry, you looked like you were in a rush and we're keeping you." Meg waved her hand, grabbing his arm and leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Letting go, "Alright, run along now. Be safe, don't talk to strangers." Bobby shot her a bemused smiled, rolling his eyes good-naturally. He waved them a quick goodbye before quickly jogging up to the back aisles. He had expected a quick come and go, however, things were labeled differently than when he came here last. Where most of the zoologist and animal/nature books were supposed to be, weren't there anymore, and had been replaced entirely religiously based novels. Eye's scanning over a few ' _God and you_ ' and ' _Have you Accepted the Lord as_ your _Savior?_ ' for Bobby to realize that's not where he wanted to be.

Blinking in confusion, he glanced around, trying to figure out where everything got moved to, curious if this was the only shelves they've swapped. He wandered around aimlessly, scanning over fiction and non-fiction autobiography's. Graphic Novels were where the Cook books should have been, Fantasy was where the Dictionary's were supposed to be and so on. Eyes snapping down to his watch, nearly wincing when he realized he was wasting too much time. Bobby jumped from aisle to aisle, and so far whatever it was he was looking for just wasn't there. Everything had been moved around, and shelves had been reorganized entirely and Bobby found himself trying to map it all out in his head to remember for later.

Eye's blinking over titles he found familiar, thinking he was in the right place to just have the floor swept from under him again and again. He's already been there a good 20 minutes, 10 more minutes than he had originally assumed, and he was no closer to finding that book than he was this morning. Too stubborn to go up to the front and ask for help.

He sighed, running his fingers along the bindings, brushing against the title's and looking at each one individually. _The Velvet Rage_ by _Alan Downs, Torn_ by _Justin Lee, Rebel Yell_ written by _Anonymous, God believe's in Love_ by _Gene Robinson_. Bobby raised a brow, but thought nothing of it as he continued on.

He eventually gave up on that aisle and quickly tried to make it to the next, but ended up slamming the side of his hip against one of the tables someone was working at. Cursing under his breath.

" _Dammit man_ , watch where you're-.."Bobby's head snapped up at the voice, looking at the man who had cut himself off mid sentence. Oh you've _got_ to be kidding.

Crowley was sitting there, suit pressed with a pen tucked behind each ear, one black and one red; his hair was combed through and not as messy as Bobby remembers seeing it most of the time. He had a pencil sticking out the side of his mouth, and a highlighter in his hands; Taken aback when Bobby noticed he was wearing these reading glasses that were sliding down his nose, which Crowley unconsciously slid back up. Bobby can't remember him _ever_ wearing glasses, he didn't know why it astounded him. Papers were spread out in front of the man, filled with writing with certain bits highlighted and a few notes written off to the side in a different coloured pen. Books with tiny print were stacked miles high beside him, and a few were opened up to some random page in front of him.

 _Of course Crowley would be here,_ Bobby thought to himself, mentally scowling at himself for not having realized that it very well _should_ have occurred to him, seeing as Crowley was the goddamn Co-CEO. They were staring at each other, literally shocked into silence. And Crowley was just sitting there, frozen in place, looking up at Bobby wide eyed a long moment before seeming to regain his composure.

Blinking, and seeming to hastily pull the pencil from his mouth, dropping it to the table top and deftly slide his glasses off the bridge of his nose. Folding them almost distractedly and placing them in the center of the book, right at the crease, to help keep the pages open, or to distract himself at the moment. It really felt as if he was trying to make himself look better, appearance wise, as if he suddenly became self-consciously aware of his flaws in front of the hunter and he didn't really know what to think about that. Bobby didn't miss the slight pink that rose to his cheeks, keeping his eyes lowered and averted.

"I'm uh-" Bobby began, slowly and carefully pushing off of the table, his hip hurting like a son of a bitch but it was the furthest thing from his mind in that moment. "I didn't mean to-" Bobby tried to say, tripping up on his words. "I'm sorry-.."

"If you continue that thought with a ' _but that's not who I am_ ' then I really don't want to hear it." Crowley snapped bitterly, practically sneering. Having attempted to mimic the hunters voice, which sounded more like a sarcastic mock than anything else; and maybe that's what he intended to begin with. The shock from only moments before having dissipated nearly entirely, regaining himself. Bobby frowned, rolling his eyes.

"Do you feel better now?" The hunter growled sarcastically, rubbing the palm of his hand over his hip. That really _did_ hurt, he felt like his hip was throbbing. Eyes falling to the time and cursing under his breath. Fuck, he _really_ didn't have time for this. Crowley opened his mouth to speak but Bobby waved his hand, effectively killing whatever Crowley had forming on his lips. "We're _not_ getting into this now. And we sure as _hell_ are not getting into it in _public_."

"Why? Would you much prefer we do it in the closet?"

"You know what? Fuck you, Crowley." Bobby spat venomously. "I don't have time for this." He sounded childish and he damn well knew it, but he had a schedule he was _already behind on_ and he _really_ didn't have time to deal with this. He pushed away from the table, not caring if he was a bit rough, because he know's he's got his issues, but that doesn't excuse the British sounding asshole for acting like a dick. His leg hurt, and felt like he was faintly limping, but it wasn't all that noticeable as he walked briskly away from the table. He heard the other's chair sliding, as if he was getting up, and Bobby metaphorically crossed his fingers that he'd go looking for a book rather than follow him, but ended up being let down. When he finally got to the far corner of the library in the way back, feeling a hand grab his shoulder.

Bobby shook the other off of him, walking further into the aisle as if he didn't notice he was there.

"Bobby, wait-" The anger from before seemed to be missing entirely, sounding almost urgent, which was honestly odd considering he didn't think Crowley could jump from mood's so easily. However, he's been proven wrong before. Trying to step away from Crowley, push him off, ignore him, proved a lot easier said than done.

"Bobby-" He pulled on his shoulder, flipping him around, "Listen to me-"

"What?" Bobby snapped, but Crowley didn't flinch, merely dropping his hand from the hunter's shoulder. "You got some more snarky comments up your sleeve you want to shoot my way, or can you let me find my book in peace?"

Crowley frowned, but there wasn't any real impertinence or venom in the way he did so. He seemed mostly sad, frustrated and angry, but sad overall. "I-" Crowley stopped, looking honestly confused for a few passing seconds as to why he really did follow the hunter. Bobby felt like it was to apologize, but something in the back of his mind told him it really wasn't going to be that simple.

Seeing Crowley look so put-off, no matter what, always just look so wrong on him. To the point that Bobby felt like he was one of the few people who actually got to see Mr. _High and Mighty_ look so vulnerable. It wasn't something he was particularly proud of.

"Look," _Look._ Look was one of those words that started a revolution in conversations, it caught people's attention and got the point across. It was almost _always_ followed by an uncanny statement or revelation that sticks in people's minds for days. It was just one of the words that's tossed around so much it really loses it's initial meaning, but Bobby never missed the profoundness of the word.

"Look, I've just-" Crowley seemed to really be thinking his words over, verbally pausing in ways that Bobby did himself when he was distressed, when he wanted to get a point across that he didn't know how to. "-back there-" He lifted his arm, gesturing behind himself and Bobby understood he was talking about that the table. Maybe even more broadly than that. "I didn't mean to snap at you, really, I didn't." The Scotsmen sighed, "I've been.. I don't know, off?" Bobby could tell, Crowley wasn't looking too good. Not that he looked _bad_ , he looked y'know, good. He always looked good, but there was something.. bad about it? Put off? And not like in a _bad_ way because Crowley couldn't look bad- Bobby mentally winced, that kind of thinking had to stop. This really wasn't the time.

Crowley shuffled closer a few feet, but Bobby didn't budge. Either too stubborn, or he hadn't actually registered the fact that he moved.

"With all the work that's been piled on, especially with Lilith's new-- _fascination_ with upgrading things," Crowley tried to explain himself, and Bobby attempted to get him to stop, telling him it wasn't necessary to explain himself, that he got the other's message loud and clear but Crowley wasn't having any of it. He was like that, when he had something on his chest he was the kind of person who'd wither away in guilt if he didn't try to set things right again. It wasn't a bad trait, but at times the hunter imagined that it was inconvenient. "I'm irritable, I'm frustrated and-" He waved one hand in front of him, twirling at the wrist, trying to organize his thoughts. "I've-" His lips pressed together in a thin line, a gesture Bobby's seen and even done too many times. Crowley reached up, deft fingers moving and adjusting his tie, rubbing over his collar of his shirt, lips parting; hesitant to speak. "I've.. I've missed you."

His last few words were drawled out slowly, his tone an octave softer than before and even in the dim lighting the hunter could see the slight flush of the man's cheeks, but Crowley held his gaze nonetheless and the little announcement sent a fuzzy warmth manifesting in his chest, it was small but it was sudden. Missed him? That can't be right. His lips falling apart to speak but Crowley beat him to it.

"It's funny, actually," He tried to begin, his tone humourless, smiling but Bobby didn't see the normal mirth Crowley naturally sported, this one seemed forced. Thinking vaguely back to the woman at Crowley's apartment building's front desk, the woman who sat there and smiled up at him almost plasticly. "I think about you a lot, actually." He said, laughing and again it sounded forced, like some sort of mask. Bobby felt his words die on his tongue, unable to respond. "It's really pathetic, to be honest."

"You were supposed to be just a silly little infatuation, you weren't even supposed to be that, but you were." Crowley swallowed, "And then there was the kiss, then the fight, and I should have gotten over the whole mess a few days after, right?" He chuckled, causing Bobby to frown. He sounded- _wrong._ "It's all this huge joke, and I got caught in the middle of it. You over there being all-" He gestured to him, as if that could be some sort of sufficient answer, crossing his arms, eventually dropping his gaze because it was getting harder to look at him. " _-perfect_ , and then there was silly ol' me, assuming things." He had spat out the word as if it was poisonous.

Bobby had been left speechless for the time, trying to find some way to counter that but he _couldn't._

"Crowley-" He tried to start but the Scotsman scrunched up his face, waving him off.

"You really don't have to explain it to me, darl-" He swallowed, dropping the endearment as he began saying it. Bobby hated that, hated how it was his fault he put such a distance between them. Crowley was his _best friend_. They bantered, they'd talk, they told each other nearly everything. Bobby hadn't had someone like that, someone who seemed so genuinely interested since-- Bobby stopped, crushing the thought before it began to fester. Crowley wasn't Karen, Crowley was a lot of things, but he wasn't her; he had to stop comparing the two, had to remind himself they weren't the same person. He sometimes forgot about that, didn't think about it when he was enjoying himself. All those dormant emotions he's kept buried after his late wife, were intermixing with the ones he felt for Crowley. Both people he cared about a little bit too much for it to be platonic. _Fuck_ where the hell did everything get so blurred and messed up? 

"-I, I get it." If Crowley had been anyone else, Bobby would have described his voice as cracking. But Crowley wasn't just anybody, he was Crowley, and his voice _didn't_ crack. It couldn't. "Really, you didn't know that I was sporting these obnoxious feelings for you, and I shouldn't have assumed that you would have felt the same." His lips pressed together, "And I shouldn't have.. well, _buggard out_ on you. I was pressuring you into something you were uncomfortable with and I'm- I'm sorry." The word sounded wrong coming out of Crowley's lips, and if anything it made the hunter feel worse. He sighed, arms falling from his chest to shove them into his pant pockets, looking uncomfortable but knowing that since he's already started he knew he had to finish, one way or another. "I was- I just.. _really_ wanted us to work." He said softly, pressing his lips together in a weak but firm line.

Bobby licked his lower lip, shaking his head somewhat. "Why?" He breathed, Crowley upturning his head to look at him. "Why me? Really? Because by all accounts you could have picked someone way better." Waving his hands, "No offense, but you have terrible taste in men." The comment came out a bit lighthearted, yet serious in a way. Trying to lighten the mood that's been dampened, to get some air in on the situation. Bobby-- he was just tired of fighting, he was just so tired of it. Of the distance, of losing sleep over it. Mulling over all the ways that he could have gone about it. Guilt weighing on him, but he was too much of a stubborn bastard to do anything about it.

"Robert," Crowley started, his tone borderline on the most sincerest the hunters honestly ever heard him. Maybe sincere was a bit too strong of a word, but he couldn't describe the tone any other way that'd cover the extent of what Crowley was trying to get across. "I couldn't possibly do any better than you."

"I don't believe it," Bobby pushed, almost defensively. "Like honestly, you could pick any rich guy out there." Bobby twisted his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers, clasping together. "Someone who lives that clean an' fancy high life that you live in. Someone who can look after you, and provide for you-- Y'know? Someone less dirty, and-"

"A complete arsehole?" Crowley finished, down-turning his head, rubbing his nose before pinching the bridge. Bobby, for the first time, realized how close they were standing. He hadn't seen Crowley move any closer, and he sure as hell doesn't remember moving. "Robert, you really don't give yourself enough credit."

"I'm a hunter-"

"And is that supposed to make me want you any less?" Crowley seemed to freeze up when he said it, a sudden rise in irritation having hampered his filter. His shoulders tensed up, mouth opening and closing a few moments as he tried to regain himself. Bobby's eyebrows lifted, his body posture turning rigid, trying to think of some sort of Come-back from that, but nothing came to mind. Crowley was the first one to regain himself. "I mean-" He paused, thinking his words back over, looking honestly panicked and small. Bobby sometimes forget's that Crowley honestly is small; and when he's not wearing his confidence and smugness on his sleeve you could actually see it, how he really was _smaller_ than him, but because Crowley always held himself like he was the biggest person in the room, you didn't usually notice his height.

He hated seeing someone like Crowley, who was by far always so confident, shut down like that. It was like hearing that hitch in a persons voice before they begin to cry, or a child being shouted at in the middle of a store; it was by all means unpleasant to see.

"I mean you're..-" He stopped a moment, sucking in a deep breath that Bobby could distinctly hear. "different?" The word fell lamely from the Scotsmen's lips, trying to find the words he wanted, but they eluded him. "You're this.. this charming man, who put's other people's lives before his own." Crowley seemed to begin, "You- you're selfless, and patient, and brilliant." He swallowed, eyes glancing up at the hunter briefly before finding the books on the shelves surrounding them to be suddenly very interesting. "You're a better man than I am, by all means, and you do so much and there's _so much_ to you that I couldn't even begin trying to explain, and I got so.. I was _drowning_ in it-- in.. in you."

"And suddenly, I did something moronic and lost those waters, and I've been-" _Irritable? Frustrated? Wrong?_ "Terrible.. miserable." Crowley brought the palms of his hands to his eyes, rubbing them in jerky circular motions before letting his hands fall from his face, in something akin to defeat. "I was just so.. so _blinded_ by you. And I said.. I said a few things to you that I regret saying, and I'm-" _I'm sorry._ Crowley's eyes were expressive enough, finishing his sentence when he found that he couldn't. His eyes darted up to the hunters, looking for some sort of reaction, unsure by what he expected.

"Crowley," It was Bobby's turn to speak up, rubbing the palm of his hand against the back of his neck. "Look, you don't- you don't have to apologize to me. Okay?" Crowley opened his mouth to protest, but Bobby cut him off. "I said some- pretty nasty things to you to, alright? We're both in the wrong here." Bobby looked around them, scratching his jawline in thought. "I really, I should have seen the signs when you were waving them in my face, and I shouldn't have- well, _reacted_ the way I did, either."

"I was-" _I don't know_ , "Scared? I guess." Bobby inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly as he tried to think everything through. "After everything that happened in my life, I've never had any- well, _good_ things. And you were just another example of it." He sighed softly.

"Karen," Bobby started, his tone soft. "She was ah- a childhood friend of mine." The hunter verbally paused, steering himself into a conversation that he hadn't really told many people. But Crowley was standing there, looking helpless and honestly he deserved an explanation. "I met her in the forth grade back in 81', a few years after my dad left." Bobby swallowed thickly, here goes nothing.

"We'd been uh, best friends for years. We started dating when we hit high school and had been together ever since." He shifted on his feet a moment, watching Crowley with a near wavering gaze. Crowley looked up at him, watching him as he spoke, but Bobby couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion he was wearing on his face. "I proposed to her right out of high school, which was stupid, I know, but we were young and we'd known each other for so long, and had been together for so long; I didn't even think twice about it." The hunter mulled over his words, chewing his lower lip. "Naturally, she'd said yes. Just a couple of kids, but we were happy."

The hunter looked away from Crowley, tapping his fingers against the side of his jeans, chewing on his tongue. "About a year into being married, uhm-" He swallowed, "We found out that she had a uh-" Bobby felt a lump in his throat, but shoved it down, trying to concentrate on the story. "A uh, a rare form of cancer."

Bobby couldn't even remember the specific name that she had, it was excessively long and had a one in a million chance of actually attaining that strand, and she had it. It was so rare, even the doctors they'd gone to didn't really know what to do about it; He can remember how frustrated, how hurt he was, watching Karen fall into the downward spiral had been hard for him to do. It was hard to even think about.

"She had already had it for a few years without really knowing about it. She was always fragile, and always sick, but after a while you didn't really notice it. Like it was just _apart_ of her er somethin'. Anyways, she always brushed it off as having a bad immune system. So I never really thought too much on it." Bobby frowned, as if stepping into unwelcome territory. "One day it had gotten really bad, so I took her to the doctors to get her all checked out, found out she was already in stage four and there wasn't much we could even do at that point." Bobby chewed the inside of his mouth, "She died a year later on March 3rd of 93', about a few months later John and Mary were caught and killed in that house fire; that was in November." Bobby rubbed his hand over the side of his face, as if to wipe away imaginary sweat that contained all those bad memories. "She was only 21, and John and Mary were both 29."

Crowley was quiet a long moment, almost as if he was unsure as to what he wanted to say, but Bobby already knew what it was going to be before it even fell from his lips. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Bobby waved off, "But do you see what I mean? Karen was a nice thing I had, John and Mary's friendship were nice things, their boys? All of it. And now? Sam had dealt with the drug addiction, his girlfriend having been killed in a house fire. Dean's wife's leaving him; I'm just.. Anything nice, or good that ever comes to this family, to _me_ , it fall's apart. It's _always_ fallen apart. Even _our_ friendship went down the goddamn drain, I'm just- I'm not meant to have good things in my life. It's like god's punishing me for something I don't even know about, or what I did wrong-"

"You didn't do anything wrong." Crowley stated, effectively cutting off whatever rant Bobby had on his lips.

"Then what?" Bobby sighed, dropping his face to his hands, "Then what's wrong with me?"

"You put yourself down too much," Crowley was really close at this point, but the hunter barely even noticed. "You tear yourself up and bring yourself down. You're too scared to let yourself be happy because you're afraid that something else will happen." Crowley grabbed the hunters arm gently, forcing Bobby to look at him. "You've got all these conflicts and fears swirling in your head. Darling, you've got to stop doing this to yourself."

Bobby just shook his head ducking it, "And what? Being with you can fix all that?" Bobby shot back, the bitter sarcasm dripping and Crowley only sighed.

"Not even with me, but- with _someone_. Someone who can prove to you that bad things can happen to good people, and just because bad things are happening, it doesn't make you a bad person." The man muttered gently, "I want you to realize that, and for you to stop blaming and hiding yourself. It's unhealthy and I'm watching it kill you." Crowley frowned, pressing his lips. "Please just- stop this." His voice was quiet but urging, urging for him to understand. "I want you to be happy, you deserve to be happy."

The hunter shook his head, he didn't " _deserve_ " anything. He _wasn't_ special, he wasn't anything and Crowley looked about ready to smack him. "Don't you dare put yourself down like that." He growled lowly, "After everything you've done and given up, after everything you've been through you deserve to have at least one thing that doesn't leave a bitter taste on your tongue."

Their faces were inches away, Bobby could feel the others breath rolling off of his face and this position felt oddly familiar. When did they get so close? Who was moving?

"Someone to take care of you." Crowley muttered, eyes trained on Bobby's, as if he were waiting for him to bolt, push him away.

Bobby scoffed, "I don't need _taken care of._ "He murmured, looking down at the man. "Besides," He breathed, "There's no one out there who'd be dumb enough to try and take care of a thing like me."

Crowley bit his lower lip, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth. His voice was so soft Bobby was surprised he could even make out what he said, barely even a whisper. "I would."

Bobby didn't know to this day who initiated what happened next, or even who moved forward first. Their lips brushing forward, connecting somewhere in the middle. Bobby felt the surges of panic for the briefest moments, saying how _wrong_ it was, how he should be disgusted by it, but for some reason, he just wasn't. And Bobby think's that what probably scared him the most.

He felt the man let go of his elbow, his soft hand sliding up his arms and finally resting in his hair. His hands bumping off the hunters cap, letting it fall to the ground with a soft _clump_ as his fingers interlaced with the hunters soft tufts of hair. Lips mashing together, awkward and strange, fleeting for an abundance of seconds that drifted on by in what felt like hours; Crowley feeling warm and soft, if not a bit chapped, against the hunters lips, his lower lip moist against his own; feeling hot against the hunters mouth as he breathed. Slow, careful, as if Crowley still held his initial fear that the hunter would just push him away, just like before.

At first, Bobby only barely reciprocated the kiss, hands stiffly at his sides; His chest was fluttering, and his hands felt sweaty, like his heart was going to burst through his chest and on the verge closing up. However, that's not what happened, something in his head officially snapping, bending and after a long almost airless moment, he pressed against the touch. Something that flipped the middle finger to social norms, to what was or wasn't accepted because _this_ was nice. This was one of those nice things he could never have because fear kept him from grabbing it, because irrational anger pushed it away, and Social norms told him it was wrong. Feeling the others lips against his own, body pressed almost shyly against his, practically hearing the man's racing heartbeat over his own. Society expectations be damned, Bobby wanted Crowley almost as much as Crowley wanted him and there wasn't anything else in the whole world in that exact moment that Bobby wasn't more sure of.

It was all the little things. How Crowley had to lean a bit on his toes to reach the hunters mouth, noses brushing and bumping into each other, trying not to be too loud or too obvious; feeling his own breath having quickened, but he also knew he wasn't the only one. It was strange, and imperfect, it was flawed, but that's way made it so good.

It took him a moment, but his hands finally reached forward, awkwardly resting on the man's hips. He felt Crowley, rather than heard, the man chuckle against his lips. Bobby didn't know what was so amusing so he just went with it.

Their lips mashed together, and after an abundance of moments, he felt Crowley's tongue pressing against his lips, sliding against his lower lip like before at the Christmas party; silently asking for entrance that Bobby was too submerged to deny, his lips spreading easily enough and just barely enough for the man to slip inside. The feeling was almost foreign but oddly familiar all the same, tasting faintly of alcohol and mint, nostrils flaring as he took in as much air as he could without parting. Hands gripping tightly at the others hips, finally lifting them and wrapping them around the Scotsmen's torso, pulling his body closer until the lengths of their bodies were pulled together. Crowley let one hand fall from the hunters hair, wrapping it around the man's shoulder blades, holding himself upwards, almost like leverage to press their lips more firmly against him, urgently. Tilting his head for better access.

 _God_ , Bobby felt like a complete asshole, now that he really thought about it. He could have had this, could have had Crowley wrapped up in his arms, could have held him and had something with him. But no, he had pushed him away because he was scared, because he didn't want to believe that was the kind of person he was; didn't want to think there was something else _wrong_ with him.

But this? This felt good, it felt right. Feeling the others hot tongue explore in his mouth, slow and controlled, brushing along his teeth before moving away enough to nip at the hunters lip, damn near _giggling_ when Bobby caught his upper lip in a kiss. He was murmuring so softly against his lips, that it took a few moments to realize what he was saying; with things along the lines of _I want to take care of you_ , and _please let me make you happy-_ Bobby didn't know what else to say, uttering soft _okays_ against his lips; holding him tightly, as if he'd make another dumb decision and push him away again, because he realized so foolishly what he tried to push away, tried to push _him_ away, but he wasn't going to do that anymore. He didn't have the heart to push anymore people away. Not like that.

Bobby could feel his heart pounding in his chest, that warmth manifested and spread to every inch of his body, his nerves buzzing and he felt so good. Like he was on cloud nine, and everything felt alright for once.

When they finally separated for air, eyes looking down at the man in his arms. Crowley just looked so.. content. He looked blissed out, with his kiss swollen lips, and flushed face, his hair looking a tad more disheveled than it did before, sticking out all over the place. Looking up at the hunter with such affection and adoration that Bobby didn't think he's ever seen that look on the man's face before. Seeing as his natural expression was smug; needless to say, it didn't look out of place, sporting this rather goofy and nearly crooked grin on his lips.

Bobby smiled back, because why not? His eyes looked up, making sure there wasn't anybody gawking at them or enjoying the show, because he seemed to remember they were still in a public library. Eyes glancing back down at the man when something caught his eye. Bobby lifted a brow when he spotted it, almost scoffing when he finally let go of the man, one arm still around his back as he reached for the book, sliding it off of the shelf. _After the Grizzly_ , by _Peter S. Alagona_. There it was.

The hunter sighed obscenely, not wanting to look down at his watch to see the time, or how off schedule he was officially now because of his little distraction. Crowley dropped his arms from the hunters neck, "Well, I should uh-" He paused, "Let you get on with your work." He finished a tad awkwardly; Bobby imagined it'd be like that for a bit, metaphorically crossing his fingers and hoping that it didn't have to be.

Bobby pressed his lips together, nodding. "Yeah I've got to do this." Waving the book up as if to validate his point. Crowley merely nodded, his eyes dropping to the ground, a soft sound escaping his lips which soundly faintly like an _oh_ and he leaned down. Snatching the hunters hat off of the floor. Placing it back on the hunter's head, causing Bobby to chuckle; it was all a bit weird, but he imagined it wouldn't stay like that for long. Crowley looked as if he wanted to say or do something else, but kept himself from doing it; as if a bit afraid to ruin this delicate thing he finally had. The businessman looked as if he was getting ready to head back to his seat, but Bobby stopped him, quickly- before he'd chicken out- pulling him into a quick chaste kiss, lingering a bit longer than he had intended. Crowley pulled away, that smile back on his lips.

"I could get used to that." He hummed, smirking up at the hunter.

Bobby's face felt hot, and he couldn't imagine how red he was; however, if it was truly bad, Crowley didn't comment on it.

Leaving was even more bizarre, and Bobby wasn't sure how he was even supposed to say goodbye after all that. Thank's for the kiss I'll call you up sometime? Crowley did him a favour and took charge of the goodbyes, assuring him he'd either stop by or call later, depending on what his schedule was like and Bobby just nodded and-- left. There had to be a better way to do that transition, someway he could easily slid away and it'd just work; he's seen it done countless times in movies, but that was his big problem, he wasn't in a movie. In films you didn't see the weird goodbyes, or the driving scene's home; you didn't see all those normal bits that Bobby wanted to cut out altogether. The awkward and weird transitions; so what he had to say was scripted out so he didn't sound so pathetic or embarrassing when he said goodbye.

He was acting like a love struck idjit, and he wasn't all that fond of not knowing what was going to happen next. He left, trying to get out of the library, trying to get his mind-set on the hunt again but it was proving difficult. Having narrowly avoided Meg on his way out; he didn't need her seeing the flush in his cheeks, or how messed up his hair might have been, especially with what his cap didn't cover. The cold air bursting and wrapping around him crisply as he finally left the building, feeling nice against his skin for once rather than piercing, lowering the temperature in his face.

So, instead of wallowing on everything that went down, Bobby just made it over the slush and jumped into his chilled truck, and he drove himself home. Simple as that, quick and easy and two-dimensional as turning a wheel and pushing a pedal. Driving was easy, people, on the other hand, were not easy, and in most cases unpredictable. So he concentrated on driving, concentrated on the cold in his truck and the freezing steering wheel in his hands because he know's he's getting into something that won't be easy, because people never were, and their situation was a bit messed up, but it wasn't too bad, and Bobby tried his best to not get too excited about getting that call.

Right now, he needed to worry about finishing his job. Everything else can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a bit hard to write-- Trying to find some situation to put them in that I've never read, and based off of things I've never seen. So, this original idea was hard as hell to create so you're welcome. Not to mention I've been trying to edit and work on this chapter for almost 2 week's and I'm still not sure how I like it, but I'm tired of tampering with it, and I got a few good review's about it, so I felt it was good enough to post for the time being. 
> 
> This entire chapter's awkward and wonky as hell, and I'm sorry about that. [Especially when parting them, but I realize that in real life it's not perfect and flawless, in real life it's AWKWARD AND WONKY AS HELL. Especially after a first //well the first that counts// kiss, and they're two grown men so I imagine they're not going to leave there hand in hand, because they both are still not 100% on what's going on between them, but they can at least see the direction it's heading.] I'm trying to make this somewhat realistic, and putting fantasy situations where they fly off into the sunset isn't going to happen.
> 
> Feel free to tell me if the characterizations a bit off [Because I think it is.] and how you think I could improve it-- Other than that, thank you for reading and I'm sorry for the long wait. I know a great deal of you have been chewing my head off to get this chapter out. I hope it was worth it.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I can't just have love-struck chapters, and I've been subtly adding on plot between things. But it's about time I hit it dead on, because it's /important/ for Bobby and Crowley's relationship, it's REALLY /important/ in order for this story to continue-- otherwise this story could potentially be very boring and one-dimensional. I spent like-- two week's on this one, like wow that's way too long.

There was something dazzlingly familiar about getting what you want.

Like a child asking over and over for that new toy they so desperately desired, or that adult having worked harder than before just to get that raise to make their life fundamentally better. It was relief and accomplishment wrapped and mixed together like batter, stirring up the emotions and grinding into them until they come out the way you wanted them to, until they felt and settled just the way they were supposed to inside of you. Nestling right under the surface and festering like a sore that is constantly banging against tables and hard objects, forcing itself to attention.

It was like a pain that was always apologizing for causing harm but not caring enough to actually stop.

Crowley felt as if he finally had this one thing, this one precious thing in reach, finally close enough for him to grab and play with; but the distance was still too delicate to touch or prod unnecessarily, still too new and fresh for the Scotsmen to actually do anything with it, but the feeling of having it there was still growing nonetheless. It was that rush of fresh air, like a breeze through a just-opened window as it aired out a stuffy house; or wrapping your fingers around a warm cup of coffee on a chilly day to work.

It's been exactly two day's since the trip to the library, two days since that clumsy hunter banged against his table and two days since he finally got that one thing he desired the most. He can still taste the hunter on his tongue, can still feel his heartbeat through his several layers of clothes, and hear that subtle hitch in his breathing where their lips finally touched. The kiss, in itself, wasn't like bolts of electricity surging through him, it wasn't magical or extraordinary and didn't hold that whimsical touch of a million fireworks. No, he couldn't say that he felt the world stop turning around them, but he did remember it suddenly going quiet.

Months of waiting and patience, of biting his tongue and setting his jaw. Week's of anger and ache that festered all through his chest for that one moment that made it all melt away, and made it all seem like all some sort of fluttering dream that he remembers so vividly. All the fighting and the nonsense fluttering around and floating feet above ground around the whole incident; self blaming, and self loathing knitted together, anger and frustrations and eventually bitterness wallowed and snapped at anything that came near. But Crowley couldn't get himself to care when he remembers how close they were between shelves, how he could feel the others breath brushing against his face and how many times he's caught himself fantasizing about that exact moment and how their coupling could have been created.

All the cliche ways it could have gone down that he felt were just too bizarre and downright silly, mostly wishful thinking on his part. With how many times he just imagined Bobby bursting through a million different doors, in a million different scenario's and admitting he was wrong and that he wanted them to work, or maybe that he had actually been joking and it was just some ongoing cruel gag he had been holding onto. Reality just seemed cold, and although he knew it was best to just accept it, which he eventually did, it was just difficult to believe he had just been so wrong.

In the end, he hadn't been, of course. He knew Bobby was just as fond of him as he was of the hunter, he just miscalculated when to move in and snag it. Crowley knew he shouldn't take the credit, honestly there was no way to assume that Bobby could have potentially been interested, especially after that vicious round they shared after Christmas, chewing each others head's off, and for what?

One fantasy he hadn't conjured up was the one in the library; it was too sudden, too slow and too quick. It was unexpected and caught him utterly off guard. Word's had escaped him, and when he found he could speak it was all insults; it was just all too..- _real_. The fear, the hesitation, the murmuring, and arguing was all too real to make up, and the initial ending wasn't one he could have dreamed up even if he tried. It was flawed; the kiss, the hunter, himself. All of it. The situation they were in, everything that they had and had done was all flawed and imperfect and maybe that's why Crowley was so ready for it to get started.

They lived in a fast paced society, people needed results and they needed them then and now. High demand, high expectations, and high outcomes and everything had to be perfect and without blemish, and if there was fault-- a malfunction, something out of place or out of order, it was shot down and scrapped and remade into something new that could work. In business, when things were unimpaired, they were cherished and brought to the highest levels; when the product becomes broken, it's no longer wanted; when it's flawed it could never work.

Maybe he just wanted to prove that theory wrong.

He liked seeing the small mistakes, he liked seeing all those broken things that humanity can create. He enjoyed imperfection just as much as he enjoyed order and balance, because they leveled each other out exceptionally. Without one, the other would be useless, seeing as order and balance wouldn't be as sweet if it couldn't be compared to chaos and destruction. What's a blessing without a little sin?

Now, sin was something Crowley knew a great deal about. Sin's of the flesh, sin's wrapped in greed and gluttony, pride and lust; he was a man of business, sin was in the name of what he did and what he prided himself on. It was in the details and between the lines, tied in a nice bow and called a bureaucracy with it's people, but it worked, and that's all anyone needed to know. 

Sin was that embodiment that he can remember on late nights after the office when crisp suits were torn and tossed, and where pale skin and dark hair in tucked away places were the norm; it was the smell of cigarettes and crude remarks on his way out the door when he realized that he'd seen all of these steps before, replaying them over and over again as bruises began to form on his hips and that slight limp in his step became apart of his regular swagger. It's been too long since someone had just..- _grabbed_ him the way the hunter did, how he held on so tightly as if he'd simply float away. It was a _filling_ feeling he'd been lacking in relationships; where previous men had been rude and blunt about what they wanted out of him, and Bobby was like a child in comparison.

He was rough physically where he wasn't verbally, blunt with his hands and not his words and it was truly the most satisfying Crowley had ever felt when it came to starting- well, _whatever_ it is they have. Need it be a relationship- or, something along those lines, he wasn't all that sure. But whatever it was, unofficially or otherwise, it honestly left the best feeling buzzing around inside of him, although he couldn't exactly put all of it into words. He wasn't a poet, by any stretch of the imagination, so trying to get down exactly what he was experiencing was borderline on impossible.

 _Good_ didn't even begin to cover it, and _passionate_ was on a road he had no intention of driving down.

Whatever it was, he'd been waiting months for it; maybe even a year considering their strange little circumstance, but he didn't know. Feeling's weren't exactly something he necessarily allowed himself to dwindle on or thought too much about, only unless they were convenient. Which was truly something, seeing as they've been getting in the way for quite some time now. Never all that fond of how they could override his better judgement, or if they pester him one way or another; always left a bitter aftertaste and he couldn't stand it.

Sometimes it could feel good, but usually it didn't.

Just this once he didn't mind the feeling of swimming in it until he drowned. It was success and relief, joy, and so much more interlacing with one another and it was awkward and bold in some cases and it left an odd indescribable feeling he wasn't used to having settle in his gut. It wasn't as if it was unwelcome, but it was strange. Everything new always took some time getting used too, that much he knew for sure, but how long would it take?

Two days. Two long days since the not-so-undesirable incident occurred, and so far he's yet to have seen the hunter face-to-face. Working having gotten in the way, being bombarded with new customers, call's, paper work, and even some angry residents that he needed to sort out and find the problem with; then there were the new recruits he needed to overlook because Azazel had his hands full as well, along with Alastair these past few week's due to several College leveled students taking a tour over the place, trying to get a feel for the job themselves before putting their life into it.

Crowley can remember being that young. It was just a little over twenty or so years ago, not that long, but long enough. Coming to America and being apart of the world's largest company had been a dream of his he'd sported for years when he was just a young lad, and it was almost bonkers to think about how far he had come in just a short amount of time. There were people in the company that had been there for twenty or thirty years longer than himself who've never moved from their low-grade office job. It's almost funny the kinds of people success will point out and pick up, like " _Oh, this one. This one will do._ "

Of course it wasn't all that easy.

Success had a funny way of picking out the right people, and in most cases it's the people who don't deserve the power they'd worked for, but because they worked for it, it's their's, and only a select few can take it away from them.

Crowley twirled his pen between his fingers, rubbing his other hand against his cheek, scratching just under his jaw. The week's been stressful for a great deal of reasons besides the obvious; and a lot of it seemed utterly at random and unnecessary. What mostly didn't make much sense to him was why Lilith sent him and a few others to the Library- there was literally zero reasoning behind it that made any amount of sense. What she wanted could have easily been done over the computer, and needless to say there are a _great deal_ of computers _in the building._ Not to mention that Abaddon is manager of designs. So why in the _bleeding hell_ wasn't _she_ sent out to deal with it? Wasn't that her job? She had a whole bleeding _team_ of people who dealt with those kinds of things, so why did Lilith send out the only people who weren't qualified in that field?

Meg and Ruby certainly had no clue what they were doing, Azazel and Alastair were trying to work it out and eventually gave up as well; Gadreel was the _only_ person who worked under Abaddon in the Design and Technological division that had any clue what they were doing there, and even then he didn't get much done. Lilith's instructions were vague, and were unnecessary improvements to the company that they _really didn't_ need. Crowley wasn't even sure why _he_ was there. If he wanted to work on designs for the company, he would have bloody _signed up for that_. Christ on a bike, he was in Crossroads management for a goddamn reason.

None of them being there had made any sense, actually. No matter what direction someone looked at it.

First off, Azazel was in management for sending out employee's to find recruits, evaluating them; while Alastair was in management for whipping recruits into shape and training them. They worked with the newer employee's and basically did the dirty work with firing them as well, they were the one's with the bigger projects and sending people out to collect more. That was their job; they coexisted with each other and took care of the lower levels like partners. They worked with _people_ not _design._

Secondly, Meg was Crowley's personal assistant, he couldn't go a _day_ without her. She frequently worked in the division of Crossroads as his replacement when he couldn't make it in to do his own deals; she helped him sort through files and reports, she was the one who ran out and did his errands when he couldn't. Meg was his go-to gal when he needed something done-- she was his footing. Then there was Ruby, who was actually supposed to be in Human Resources for Abaddon and Metatron's division, she was the person who filed the sexual harassment complaints, and reported when something broke- she reported everything in her division, everyone had someone like her in their quadrant and sector in the company; every branch and every division was covered with people like her. Suspicious activity? You went to her.

Not a single one of them, besides Gadreel, belonged here.

Crowley was perplexed by Lilith's demand from them, and he wasn't the only one. Alastair was shooting him up with questions he just couldn't answer as to why they couldn't do this at the building, or why they were _even_ doing it while Abaddon and Metatron were back in Lilith's office when _they_ should be the ones doing this sort of redundant work. Meg had tried to get answers from him, thinking he had any clue as to what was going on, but he didn't know what to tell her. He was, at this point, just following orders.

When they had finally gotten back, tired and frustrated, Lilith's door was locked tight and he could only make out murmuring on the other end. Crowley remember's vividly that Meg was with him, wanting to just barge in and demand some answers but she knew better. Crowley dismissed them all back to their division's so they can get ready to go home, not wanting to waste more time than they already had that day. Meg was the only one who hadn't left, mumbling under her breath as she followed him back into his office, fuming as she slouched into one of the double chairs opposite of his own. There was nothing much left to do, and he knew he couldn't get started on the paperwork he know's damn well he's now behind on, and he just didn't have the tolerance to get working on them.

Meg was right behind him, and they sat there, talking idly until they officially could call it a day. Ruby sauntered in a while later, unsure of what to do, much like the rest of them, a little puzzled that they weren't working either. Crowley assumed that she suspected Meg to be screwing off, but Crowley was a whole other story.

It was hours later and around the time most were gathering things to go home, did Lilith's office door finally slide open. Meg had shook his arm to get his attention, his eyes snapping up and out his door that pointed towards Lilith's direction; he watched curiously as three figures sauntered out, muttering in hushed voices, and not looking directly at each other. The curiosity eventually got the best of him, standing up and over nonchalantly with Meg in tow towards his doors to see the infamous Abaddon strutting her way out, followed by her puppy Metatron and unconventional lover Dick Roman.

Seeing Abaddon and Metatron leaving wasn't that much of a shock, they get called in occasionally, and considering that they were managers, there wasn't anything bizarre or outrageous about it. Crowley had figured they were with Lilith in the first place, considering they weren't wasting their "precious" time in the library along with the rest of them like they should have been doing-- But what the hell was Dick doing in there? He worked as a two-bit Crossroads sale's man right under his own radar, to be honest there wasn't anything note worthy about his work ethic or even really about him, beside's the fact that he was quick on his tongue, but so was most who worked in the Crossroads.

As far as he knew, him and Abaddon were knocking heel's occasionally, but other than that he didn't know what Lilith's use for him could have been. And what was so important about the meeting that they had to spend _all day_ going over it? They got called into more meetings than Crowley did, and that was really saying something, considering he's been going to at least six every week. About a few weeks prior, he'd actually confronted Lilith about all of it, seeing as he was her second in command he figured that he had to at least know; and he needed to know whether or not these meetings were going to be placed on their pay. Regardless of any reason he could come up with, Lilith dismissed him or forced him to drop the subject, telling him that it didn't concern him and that he'd find out in due time.

It frustrated him to no end, but he did what he was told and dropped it for the time, figuring that he'd eventually pick it back up when he think's she'd be more willing to tell him. His curiosity was killing him, and he had no way to sate it. Nevertheless, he still had the files and paperwork they'd collected on their fruitless little mission, and was finally able to hand them over to Lilith as she stepped out of her door; who at first was confused at what he was handing her. It took her a moment, but she brushed it off and expressed her "gratitude" for the hard work. Crowley was a lot of things, but _oblivious_ wasn't one of them. And he certainly didn't miss the fact that her trashcan seemed fuller the next time he sauntered into her office half and hour later.

Something at work seemed wrong, like something had been shifted out of balance, however he wasn't sure exactly what it was.

It's been like that for a while, however that was just two day's ago.

Today hadn't been much better, but at least Lilith hadn't sent him and the Motley Crue back over to the library for another wild goose chase. Crowley had attempted on several occasion's to bring it up to her, but she either made him drop the subject or changed it completely when she caught on to where he was going. She jumped around him on subjects often when around him, he would have called it idle mindedness, but there was a distinct way she went about it that he knew it wasn't quite that.

He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but perhaps it was just him. Maybe he was overlooking some details, and reading too deeply in others. It happens on occasions, and he know's it wouldn't be the first time he over read something, or dug too deeply on a situation unnecessarily. So, for the time, he brushed it off, and he figured he could play it off for the time until it becomes an actual problem, which he doubted it honestly would be. Weird meetings and wild-goose chases weren't going to spell out the end of the world.

Crowley huffed absentmindedly to himself, pursuing his lips as he twirled his pen. Paperwork felt endless and bottomless, and once he got started he felt as if he couldn't stop. Break's took up too much of his time, phone call's seemed to last hours, and he stayed late after hours trying to catch up; He thought that being King of the Crossroads would have been more of a raise than anything else, but he couldn't have possibly imagined the amount of paper work would be insurmountable. Even when Meg was able to actually sit down and help him sort through this nonsense, they both ended up stay back hours late, only to have to wake up bright and early the next day.

Crowley can't say he felt guilty, but she's never on top of her game if she doesn't have at least 5 hours of sleep. He couldn't blame her, but he was used to going off of 4 hours a night for a little over 10 years now; sleeping in wasn't a luxury he allowed himself very often.

However, unfortunately, Meg's busy with the Crossroads today and is unable to assist him in finishing these pages up. Crowley placed the pen behind his ear, rubbing the palms of his hands over his face, trying to rub out the frustration as if it were a mask he could just tear off. Dragging his short nails against his scalp as he brushed through his hair, messing it up but unable to fully care as he adjusted the way he sat, shifting in his seat and trying to find a way to be comfortable again. He didn't mind sitting, but sitting for an eternity left him numb and antsy; he'd kill for a reason to jog a mile.

He'd been working on these pages for approximately two days now, and he's not _nearly_ finished yet. It was egging at him immensely. It's been two days, and he still hadn't really spoken to the hunter about- well, really anything at this point. He wasn't sure what to say to him after they swapped saliva in the zoologist section of the library, and it was too early in the relationship to be saying things like " _I miss you_ " or " _Can't wait to see you._ " He still doesn't know where all of this is going and he doesn't want to push it too far before the other has time to catch up. Just because he's been waiting to get on with this precious thing they now had, doesn't mean Bobby's quite ready for them to be advancing several steps at a time.

Bobby isn't just a fling, and he need's to remind himself not to push too quickly into this like he's done in previous relationships. Bobby's not looking for a silent quickie in the office as far as Crowley can tell, and he doesn't seem to be too keen on jumping into bed with him, at least not yet. It took this long to get with him, he can wait however much longer to knock heel's with the man when the time arrives.

Exhaling almost obscenely, he dropped his attention back to his paperwork. He still had so much to do, and it was almost time to go home; he really had to stop letting his mind wander.

Rubbing his eyes, he plucked the pen back from behind his ear and began going over Human Resources for Azazel's and Alastair's division. Everything seemed to be in order for the most part besides the fact that the fax machine's broken, scribbling down the information so he could head back down to Meg to get her on ordering new equipment; some of their things are a bit out-dated, and it's about time they start getting new machines anyways.

He'd already finished the stack consisting of validating new deals, but the last time he checked for new ones was when he started this stack; he can't even begin to imagine how that's building up. Quickly scrawling out the new information, flipping page after page of things he already knew word per word, tossing useless information in the bin, trying to scan the information as quickly as he could; things were broken, there was an incident in the second level, he had meeting's to attend, the list was endless. He couldn't forget that he had to schedule a meeting in a few days with Lilith to confirm that deal in setting up a branch in Tokyo, and the day after that he had to _reschedule_ Lilith's appointment that she's been pushing back for _months_ and finally getting her to try and meet with the state of Kansas and get a few branches set up there.

He wasn't even sure _why_ she was so hesitant to get that one in.

Crowley's own work schedule was full, and in a week or so he has to travel to Greece, then over to Rome to set up a few plans himself. He needed to reschedule the meeting he had planned with Prime Minister Stoltenberg, on where the best area's for them to set up construction, which _also_ meant a follow up meeting with actual blue-prints and plans on how to get that all done in a matter of two months. After that, it was all Abaddon's playground. He knew he needed to visit Gabriel's branch in a few week's as well, the one place he was actually _supposed_ to keep track of. Then setting up shop officially in Russia and Norway will officially put the company at their 67th mark-- Getting Purgatory Placements set up in those area's would be leaving the company even more financially better off than before, and they'll be able to hit that trillionth mark in savings in a matter of weeks.

It was exciting for the company and all, truly it was; they were certainly going places, but he still can't seem to find any time for himself. He barely had time after work to sit down and eat diner before he passes out, that's only _assuming_ that he didn't have to take paperwork home with him. He's been insanely busy these past few week's and was only barely able to find time for himself. That whole argument the hunter and himself dealt with was him working on the same schedule, and it was honestly surprising how he didn't fall asleep crying at the wheel he had been so tired when he left. Shocked when he ran into the hunter _yet again_ and things sorted themselves out. However, he just didn't have _time_ for himself, which, in retrospect, wasn't exactly good new's for starting off with the hunter.

There couldn't have possibly been a _worse_ time for them to jump into this.

If Bobby didn't drop him on his ass the moment he got a hold of him, seeing as he basically planned to _disappear_ right after they had shared that rather touching moment between the articles of _Extinction Weekly_ , then Crowley certainly found a true keeper.

The businessman sighed, swiping his tongue along his lower lip as he straightened his back. He had so much he still hadn't gotten to, and he was only a couple of hours away from finally getting to go home. He contemplated heading over to the hunters, but figured it wouldn't be the best idea, seeing as it was already late as it was; no need to be interrupting whatever the man could potentially be doing. Crowley wanted to shoot him a quick text, at least to let him know that he's still aware of his existence, but again, he knew he'd get too engrossed on waiting for the other to text back to actually work. Crowley picked up another page; he knew better than to intermix his personal life with his job.

Besides, regardless of how troublesome working could be, he didn't really mind the extra work. Crowley knew he was a bit odd when it came to things such as that, but he truly did enjoy what he does everyday; he enjoyed the paperwork, feeling the pages sliding against his fingers as he flipped to the next section. He was fond of the way the pages always felt cold and fresh, still so new the paper recently printed stuck to one another. How he had to lick his thumb in order to turn the page, and on relatively freshly warm printed paper, how the ink would smudge and cover his fingertips and the sides of his hands.

He enjoyed writing, figuring things out, setting dates and plans. All of it was something he found he rather enjoyed doing in the office; but doing too much of a good thing could easily become bitter. Crowley loved what he did, he enjoyed the fact that he didn't have to work in bad weather conditions, or in construction, he liked working behind a desk in a clean office space. He liked the order of it all, and it was easy to predict how the day was going to come, it was easy to prepare for the day rather than figuring out every piece as he went along. He had time for reflection and to plan, rarely being forced into a situation where he had to create something on the spot.

He has, however, been put in those kinds of situations. People, unlike machines, were unpredictable. He used to work on the front line in Crossroads constantly, and he had to admit he was rather good at it; he could read customers tones and body language, he could make out the kinds of people they were in a matter of moments when first meeting them. He was quick to judge and quick on his feet if he made a slight miscalculation, which in retrospect, didn't happen very often to begin with.

It's most likely the reason he was King of the Crossroads to begin with.

However, his new position made his workday a great deal times harder than it used to be, and he barely get's to work with customers any more. Not like he was really complaining; he hated getting personal calls from them where he had to pick a time and date to visit and make sure everything's running smoothly. People were filthy, and rarely had much courtesy; they were also dense and rude, and even though he had a great deal of patience, it tended to wear very thin very quickly.

His new job was good, but he had to say he truly did miss all those interesting job's he used to get while working as an average Crossroads.

Crowley picked through his pile, trying to find the things he imagined would take up most of his time and get through them as quickly as he could. He saw a few complaints in the lower sections, some Bela had filled out and filed; sexual harassment it looked like. Crowley put that in the front to get to first before anything else; he needed any and all unwanted sexual advancements made on anyone to be squashed before they happened to get out of control. The previous King or Queen of the Crossroads let a lot of these sorts of things slip, and Crowley hated that the most about whomever was in charge.

Meg had dealt with a great deal of it from co-workers, and Bela had it just as bad.

Crowley even remembers being subject to a bit himself when he was just starting out in the company. A lot of complaints that he'd sent in himself were ignored, and eventually he took matters into his own hands and dealt with it himself. He was just starting out in the job, and he had been so terrified he'd get fired if he stepped out of line, but after a few months he slowly began to realize that it was hard to get into the company, and just as hard to get kicked out.

He stopped keeping his mouth shut on the matter.

Ever since, he hadn't really had to deal with much as he stepped higher onto the corporal ladder, and eventually anyone who attempted to step on him when he first started were now under his thumb, and the feeling was far more than satisfying.

So, Crowley took sexual harassment as top priority. It should have been the previous Crossroads King or Queen's priority, but it wasn't, and he wasn't sure why; it wasn't like they were doing much else. Of all the years that Crowley had been working at the company, he still didn't know who wallowed away their time in the office that Crowley took over, and worked their life away. He never saw anyone come in or out of here, never at the time he'd come to work, and never when he left. But he knew someone was in there with the curtains drawn, because every time he left for home, he could see someone walking around inside from where his car was parked in the lot. The light was always on, and there was someone always moving, but he never saw who it was, and he never got a name.

They were gone now.

Which should have been a given, but it was rather sudden. The door was open one day and there was nothing inside except for an old large oak desk, and the stale smell of cigarettes, but that was it. No drawers, no chairs, nothing. Lilith never elaborated on what happened to them, just said that their skills were needed elsewhere. He wasn't sure if that meant they died or transferred, but he never had the audacity to ask. He felt ridiculous enough not knowing their name or who they were, and he'd been in the company too long to actually ask without feeling a fool about not knowing something that was supposed to be common knowledge.

Crowley remembers feeling a sense of near child-like wonder at seeing the door opened for the first time. 41 years old and he felt 10 as curiosity got the better of him and he peered inside, hoping to see that person he saw the silhouette of for so many years; but nobody was inside. His excitement turned to confusion and he heard Lilith clear her throat from behind him, effectively startling him.

That's when she confronted him about his new promotion.

That was only a few months ago.

Crowley flipped through more pages, setting Bela's complaint at the top, and scavenging through the rest quickly. Eyes falling on Ruby's recent report and plucking it out of the pile to join Bela's at the top. Skimming through the rest of the folder, he figured he'd be able to get to the rest of it either tomorrow or after he get's to work on the Crossroads deal's he know's are overdue to be approved by him. He closed the case file, setting them off to the side before snatching up the abundance of papers that he needed to get through before deciding whether or not he could go home.

First things first, he needed to work on Bela's.

Leaning forward in his seat, he read through the pages quickly enough, scanning over her initial complaint and over all the details she felt she needed to express. Short and sweet and to the point, as always, flipping over the page to the back where she had the basic information and who the harasser was. Crowley should have been surprised, but he honestly wasn't.

Metatron was the biggest offender in sexual harassment Purgatory Placement's had, and no amount of convincing would make Crowley think otherwise. The manager was a scumbag and got a kick out of making his employee's uncomfortable. This wasn't the first time Bela reported him, and no matter how much Crowley chewed at him for it, and talked to Lilith about it, he never lost his job and he barely ever got a slap on the wrists for what he's done. Crowley didn't want to move Bela, because it's not her fault she's getting hounded and touched by the pervert, but Lilith refused to allow Crowley to either fire or remove Metatron far away from her.

He hated it; not to mention Metatron took everything too far. He was clean kept, and at first sight he would honestly seem pathetic, but he was good at what he did, and not to mention incredibly smart and pop culture savvy, however he was mildly creepy and wouldn't know personal space if it stabbed him thirty times in the chest. He couldn't keep his hands to himself, and was socially inept at the best of times. Crowley didn't even like being in the same room with him alone, he always rubbed him the wrong way and looked at everything as if he was dissecting it.

He looked at people like he was undressing them and skinning them in his head, and Crowley always struggled to look him in the eye without grimacing. He was that worker in the office that always carried an abundance of pens in their breast pocket for no obvious reason, and made up stories about themselves to make themselves look better in front of other people. Crowley had to work on a few projects with him in the past, and he was bluntly rude and he remembers how opinionated he was about anything and everything and how he ' _could never do wrong._ ' He could spit racist and sexist slurs from across the state and back again if he wanted to with his mouth running as fast as it did.

Metatron was a thousand different kinds of white supremacy and heteronormalcy; and offends at least 20 different cultures every time he breathes, with a loaded god complex to add onto it.

The only thing bigger than his ego was the amount of people who found him utterly disgusting.

Metatron came from a group of people who were just loaded god complexes shaped and formed into human beings, Abaddon and Dick Roman were no exception.

Crowley licked his lower lip, pressing his lips together in a firm line. He figured he'd head down to Metatron's office after work and talk to him yet _again_ about how it's socially unacceptable to pat your female co-workers arse's without their permission. It was like the moron didn't know how to take no for an answer and it was getting out of hand how much he got away with it. Crowley huffed, scrawling out once again that Metatron needed spoken too, and hopefully he'd be allowed to actually _do_ something this time. The lack of discipline in his actions is just telling him it was okay to do it again and Crowley was sick of it.

Setting the page aside to get back too, he picked up Ruby's reports, scanning over the printed words before flipping the page, scanning what she wrote. Crowley blinked, re-scanning the page before doing so again; that can't be right. His eyebrows furrowed together as he sat up straighter, reading each word carefully. That didn't make any sense.

Ruby's handwriting was all off, scribbled almost like a child's; sloppy. Her descriptions were no better. Crowley couldn't tell if she was trying to report that the fax machines were broken, or if they jumped up and took a walk around the block. Her explanations were vague, if there even was one at all, and there was a complete lack of blanks filled out. It was as if she started a sentence and jump to another, and some things she had listed didn't make any amount of sense no matter how he looked at it, and by all means were unreasonable; how the hell was this even approved to be sent to him?

Crowley muttered under his breath. Metatron wouldn't look at a woman's work for the life of him, it was irritating. _Everything_ Human Resources sends in has to be approved by the managers, which meant less work for himself if they actually _did their goddamn job._

The Scotsmen looked over the last few pages, scanning over them carefully before setting it back down. He was going to have to talk to Metatron about a couple things he didn't look forward to doing; silently hoping that he won't keep him up again as he complains about everything below the moon. However, right now that wasn't what he needed to worry about; first things first he needed to figure out what in the love of sin was wrong with Ruby.

By all means, this wasn't like her. She was one of the few Human Resources that _actually_ filled out what they're supposed to, she was the clean cut and vigorous in her explanations. Crowley pushed himself out of his seat, making his way over to his filling cabinets up against the wall and sliding the middle one open. He scanned through the files, flipping through them deftly before pulling out the one he was looking for, sliding it out before sliding the cabinet shut with his hip. He dropped the contents onto his desk, reaching for her recent report and set it beside the file, flipping it open and looking at last weeks.

Her handwriting was only a bit legible, but it was _legible_. Crowley flipped the page and reached towards the center and pulled out the report from a little over a month ago. Right here- Her handwriting was clear, and as Crowley flipped through the pages things were filled out; complete sentences, straight forward descriptions. Short, sweet, and to the point. Crowley held up her newest report, frowning. He truly hoped it wasn't what it looked like.

Slipping his phone from his pocket, he dialed up Meg who answered after a first few rings.

" _What can I do for you your royal highness?_ " Meg drawled on the other end, sounding distracted. Crowley would have rolled his eyes, had he not had his mind set.

"I need you to find where Ruby could be." He asked, or more or less _demanded_ , pressing and resting his hip against the front of his desk. He heard her mumbled a quick _okay_ before hearing the faint near violent sound of fingers tapping against keys. There was a long minute of Meg humming and loud near obscene typing before he heard her clear her throat.

" _It look's like she's on break._ " She finally answered.

Crowley hummed, "Well, you two are close. Do you know where she would take a break at?"

" _Oh I don't know your Majesty, maybe the break-room?_ " She shot back sarcastically, however there was no real bite behind it.

Crowley scoffed, "Really? I could have _never_ guessed. How about you tell me _which one_. I'd _very much_ appreciate the effort, sweetheart."

" _Call me_ 'sweetheart' _again, ho nugget._ " She snapped back, but Crowley didn't miss the amusement in her tone. " _I'll reschedule all your meetings._ "

The businessman scoffed lightly, "Alright, alright. Just- What floor is she on? I've got to get to her soon before the day's out." There was a soft sound on the other end.

Meg made a soft sound in the back of her throat, clearly thinking she's won." _She usually goes to the break room on the 3rd floor, the non-smokers one. But she's known to go to the one across the hall, so I'd say check there first._ " Nodding to himself, he glanced down at the pages once again, pressing his lips together in a tight line. " _What's wrong?_ " Crowley pressed his tongue against the top of his mouth, glancing up from the papers and glancing at his chair, more so in thought than anything else.

"No offence, but I've got the funniest idea that you already know." Meg was silent on her end for a long moment; it was much more than the sufficient answer he was looking for.

" _Look-- Crowley-_ "

"Don't." He sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, god he was tired. "I don't need you explaining her actions, but _my god_ Meg, you should have _told_ me."

" _If I told you, you would have told Lilith and I-_ "

"-Didn't want her getting into trouble." Sometimes he felt like a parent, Crowley frowned deeply. "Meg, we aren't in elementary school. You know _damn_ well what'll happen if she binges again-"

" _I know, I know._ " She sighed, " _I just.. I hoped she would have figured this all out without getting Lilith involved. You know how much she's been getting called into her office, and we_ both _know how she never wants to talk about it. Like Jeez, she started up again_ because _of Lilith calling her up so much. Like what's the fucks her problem?_ "

Crowley thought about it sometimes, how weird it was. The constant meetings she had and _constantly_ calling on Ruby; Ruby never got _anything_ done because she was constantly held up in the CEO's office. Meg and himself had finally gotten around to asking her about it, but she snapped at them, telling them they "couldn't understand" and that she was "so sorry". Meg was rather unnerved by the whole thing, but Crowley was honestly perplexed about her reaction. She just looked so.. _shaken_ , for whatever reason he couldn't quite pinpoint.

It was every time she left Lilith's office whenever he could see her stumbling out; she was always holding her arms and her expression was just so..- distraught. He didn't know what went on in there, but he never really had the heart to pressure her into talking.

Crowley took a deep breath, nodding vaguely. "I understand," He said after a long moment, "I get it, I really do." He sighed, "But I _do_ need to know these things. She need's help and I could-" Could what? Send her away? Crowley didn't know what kind of help he could have been, but he figured he would have had some sort of thing planned out. "I wouldn't have told Lilith if you asked me too, besides-- If she spends that much time with her anyways, what's the chances that she doesn't already know?"

He heard Meg hum on the other line, and he imagined her nodding her head. " _Yeah, I'm sorry. Just-- Go talk to her, will ya? Make her see some sense or something-_ "

"I hate seeing her like this too." He responded, snatching up the papers. "Look, I'll call you back in a little bit, alright? Finish working, because I'm going to need you bright and early in the morning to help me fill out the rest of these papers."

" _Are you still working on that fucking stack? Jesus fucking Christ, how do you get anything done?_ " Crowley chuckled at that, responding simply before finally hanging up.

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he slipped the pages under his arm. Fingers grabbing deftly at his pen and placing it inside of his coat pocket, making his way out of his office as swiftly as he could without gaining too much attention; People on this level were still getting used to seeing the door of his office open; it was that slight forgetfulness in the back of their mind where they kept expecting the previous King or Queen of the Crossroads to saunter on out when they've hermitted themselves away for so long.

Heads would up turn suddenly, almost as if they were shocked before seeming to relax, glancing back at their work as if they hadn't noticed or as if they didn't do anything. It was only about fifteen or so people on this level who blink curiously anymore, a majority having to prevent themselves from looking up. Crowley payed them no mind, already used to the sudden misplaced attention as he jogged his way over to the elevator at the far end of the floor.

Let it never be said that Crowley didn't give a damn about his workers.

Reaching the elevator in nearly no time at all, he pressed the button to call the lift, stepping inside once the doors finally parted. It was empty inside, thankfully, he didn't have the patience for small idle chatter and he was already a bit pressed on time. Crowley scratched the underside of his jaw, standing still as he watched the dial drop down several floors, feeling the soft shift in the elevator as it began slowing to a halt. Brushing his tongue along his lower lip, he watched as the doors finally slid open, the slick metallic sound as they separated and slid away from each other, adjusting his suit jacket before slipping out and down the hall.

He wasn't accustomed to this part of the building, being far more used to the higher level's; seeing as he was a Crossroads employee after he left his branch as manager to Gabriel. Lower levels were more for the hands-on type workers, those who did more work on the building rather than the customers. Shoving his own hands into his pockets, Crowley stepped his way past a few workers, nodding to them as they did him and trying to get down as far as he could, eyes scanning over doors and room numbers, counting each of them out in his head in time with his steps until he seemed to find the one he was looking for.

Non-smokers break room. The sign out front with the slash through the picture of a cigarette made him pause, peeking through the door and inside. There was about four people seated inside, having seen two of the four walking around on occasion and in passing, and one of them looked a complete stranger. Right along side them was Ruby, perched on one of the chairs, hovering a bit over the table as she reached for the bag of chips one of them was teasingly keeping from her.

Crowley sauntered in after collecting himself, straightening his stance. "You three," Cold and calculated in nature, his tone causing all four of their heads to shoot up at the sound of it, eyes going wide when he pointed directly at them suddenly, dismissively. "Out."

They looked at each other, nodding silently and quickly pushing to their feet, nearly tripping over themselves as they stumbled to leave; Ruby pushed up from her seat, which Crowley lifted a hand to prevent her from going far. "Not you."

The workers glanced at her, and Crowley could have sworn one of them looked sympathetic, but they didn't hesitate to get the hell out of there, rushing towards the door and most likely heading off to find another break room. Crowley paid them little mind, watching as the last one left before turning to look at Ruby, whose eyes were glancing sternly at the table in front of her, shoulders tense and pointedly avoiding looking him in the eye.

"Ruby." He began, stepping forward. Slipping the pages out from under his arm and placing them on the table before her. She only glanced at them briefly before upturning her head, eyes darting away. "Would you do me a favour and explain what this is?"

Ruby raised her eyebrow's, pressing her lips together and looking at the pages as if she was mocking his demand. "Look's like my reports, sir."

"Don't-" He leaned against the side of the table, lifting his hip so he was sitting half on and half off of it. "None of that ' _sir_ ' business. I need you to tell me what this-" He flipped them open, setting them side by side for her to see the comparison, "-is."

"I just told you, it's my reports."

Crowley hummed, "Mhm, is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"No," She shook her head, "Not really."

"Uh huh, let me rephrase that. Is there something you _need_ to tell me?" Ruby glanced up at him, her gaze wavering before looking back down at the paper, her leg bouncing before she shook her head again.

"No."

Crowley watched her a long moment, exhaling softly and snatching the pages once again, tucking them back under his arm. "Ruby-"

"Don't." She snapped, "Just, stop." Ruby swallowed, lifting her arms up and planting her elbows on the table in front of her, the gesture forceful as if she slammed them, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles. "Look, I know what you're down here for, I get it, really. But it's-" She chewed her lower lip, dropping her hands heavily over her arms, leaning forward against the table from how she was sitting. "-it's nothing, okay? No big deal."

"No big deal?" Crowley repeated lamely, "Really? No, scraping your knee is no big deal, getting a paper cut is no big deal. Shooting up on heroin is a _huge bloody deal_." Crowley spat, causing her to wince, flinching almost at his words and dropping her head. "Do you even care about what you're doing to yourself? And it's not just you, it's your job too." He gestured vaguely behind himself and towards the doors, trying to get his point bluntly across. "People _rely_ on you, and how can they trust that you'll do your job when you're-" He stopped, frowning. "Ruby, you can't-" He tripped up in his words, unsure on how to approached the subject; he didn't even know where to _begin_ with her.

"Why are you doing this?" He started again, "Why would you start up again after-"

"I just like doing it, _okay!?_ " She snapped, causing the Scotsmen to blink. She turned her eyes away, her lip's tightly screwed together as she tried to think, trying to sort through her thoughts. She just looked so.. sick. Her skin was pastier than before, and dark bags underlined the underside of her eyes, pupils dilated and dancing around, unable to stay in one area for too long. The longer he watched her, the more he noticed the smaller things and the more he felt guilty for not taking notice any sooner.

It wasn't his responsibility to look after her, but it sure felt like it should have been.

"No you don't." His tone dialed down, and with the soft slump in her shoulders after he said so told him that he was spot on.

"How the hell would you know?" She muttered, leaning back in her seat, arm's dropping to her lap. Crowley raised a brow, licking his lips before making to speak.

"Because I can still remember how hard it was for you to get clean in the first place." He replied, setting his hands onto his propped up leg. "All those hours in rehab that Lilith _paid_ for out of her own pocket, in order to have you on our team." Crowley glanced at the doorway, making sure no one was standing there and listening in. "Being a drug dealer gave you the technique we needed, but you being addicted to _drugs_ went against a hell of a lot of codes and requirements for you to even be allowed to work." He turned his attention back to Ruby, eyes watching the table in front of her intensely, her gaze seemingly glued.

That was the thing with Purgatory Placements, it truly didn't care about background; more focused on character than anything else. The company was so huge, it could easily afford glitches in who they employ; If they were good at what they did, typically the company didn't hesitate on hiring them in. Of course there was the whole "requirements" involved with average employee's that they needed to pass; that including their GPA, IQ, what kind of college they graduated from, to just how qualified for the job they were, etc. But Lilith overrode the rules by default and took in anyone she wanted under her wing, no questions asked, and Ruby just happened to be that rare exception.

"You finally got here, began working, and you were doing _brilliantly._ No hiccups, no problems, just straight on through the line and working your way up like the rest of us." Crowley shifted, inclining his head to get her attention to which she pointedly refused. "You'd go on for _days_ about how much you hated who you were, and how that just wasn't _you_ anymore. What ever happened to how the ' _past doesn't define who they are during the present_ '? After everything you did for yourself, after everything _Lilith_ did for you-"

"Don't bring her into this." Ruby frowned, expression turning angry at the sound of the other's name, borderline on distressed. "Jesus, don't bring her into this."

Crowley squinted at her, eyebrow's furrowing. "Wh-"

"Do you want to hear something funny?" Ruby interrupted, finally looking up to meet his gaze. She stared at him intensely, and Crowley stared back, eventually his brain caught onto her sudden outburst, nodding slowly in response. "Purgatory Placements has it's hands.. where?" She asked, although her tone suggested it was rhetorical. "Everywhere, right?" Crowley closed his mouth, nodding once again, this time more out of curiosity than courtesy.

"Yeah, that's right." She breathed, voice a bit shaky. "It's invested in major food corporations, major hospitals, for fuck's sake you can find it placed in every major city around the world, and tiny branches in tiny towns." Crowley nearly flinched when he heard the soft hitch in her voice, almost as if she were about to cry. Ruby's eyes were darting everywhere at this point, arms shivering and Crowley highly doubted it had to do with the temperature in the room. "Why is that, boss? Why the _fuck_ is it in so many places? Huh, Crowley?"

She looked at him, almost expecting him to answer and Crowley found himself speechless. "It's a uh-" He paused, blinking as he tried to remember. "An insurance company."

"Bingo, look who's right on the fucking dot." She crossed her arms, holding herself tightly. "It insures business, corporations, _people_." Her lower lip quivered, leaving the other slightly taken aback when he noticed her eyes growing wet, brimming with tears she attempted to blink away. "Why do so many people _rely_ on this _stupid fucking company-!_ " She was on the verge of screaming, bringing her hand up to her nose and pinching the bridge, running her hands over her face; the gesture snappy and almost violent, her muscles clenching.

"How long have you worked here?" She said softly this time, wiping her fingers roughly over her mouth and eyes as if to clean away imaginary filth. As if she felt dirty.

"About twenty years." He responded slowly, almost uncertainly.

"Twenty years." She repeated, "And once, throughout your _whole_ career, did you ever think to yourself, at least _once_ that maybe this company wasn't all that perfect?"

"Of course this company isn't perfect," Crowley replied, sounding incredulous over how obvious the statement was. "It's going to have its flaws-"

"You don't understand," Her voice was wavering, trying to get it under control. She looked at him almost desperately, as if she wanted to say.. _something_ but being unable to get it out. "Have you ever just..-" She swallowed thickly, "- _sat there_ and wondered, ' _why the hell do we have our hands in-- everything_ ,'?" She drew out her words, slow and careful to get her point across. However, before Crowley could try to figure out what's gotten her so disturbed, there was a loud voice in the doorway, startling the both of them.

"Hey, Ruby." Abaddon greeted perkily. Leaning against the doorway with her arm's crossed delicately across her chest, head inclined towards the two of them. Ruby watched her a long moment before she finally dropped her head, falling silent. "Hey there Crowl's." She added absentmindedly, smirking slightly. Crowley sighed, forcing a tight smile on his lips.

"Abaddon." He muttered distastefully in greeting. She tsked softly, feigning hurt at his tone, however she didn't comment on it. Eyes snapping to look at Ruby once again, almost as if seeing right through her.

"Hey Rubes, Lilith's lookin' for you." She grinned, "I'd hate to keep her waiting."

Ruby nodded tightly, eyes darting towards Crowley one last time, muttering a soft _sorry_ before finally snatching up her jacket from the back of her chair and making her way out, pointedly ignoring Abaddon as she made her way through the door. Abaddon watched her go before pushing off of the door, head snapping towards Crowley as he slid himself fully onto the ground, getting ready to leave himself; however Abaddon didn't seem too keen on him getting out the door just yet.

"What were you two talking about?" She asked, her voice lifting towards the end, sounding taunting. However, everything that came out of her mouth sounded like a taunt, so he typically tried to ignore it.

"Nothing that concerns you." He replied flatly, wanting to end the conversation before it started; but when he tried getting through the door Abaddon slammed her hand against the frame, preventing him from leaving.

"That's not what I asked." She sneered, her smirk looking suddenly tight on her lips.

"And I'm under no obligation to tell you otherwise." He stated, watching her carefully, cautiously. He felt a like a mouse in a snakes den when it came to Abaddon. She always had something slithering about her, something serpent like that he couldn't quite pin-point and it unnerved him to no end. However he wasn't going to let her know that. "Now I suggest you drop your arm like a good little girl, and let daddy get back to work." He growled cynically, keeping his gaze steady.

Abaddon glared at him, mouth forming into a tight line before grudgingly dropping her arm. "Of course."

Crowley brushed past her, with every intention of walking back up to his office distraction free as to get his reports finished for the day, but Abaddon didn't seem to be finished with him quite yet, following him out from the door and keeping in step beside him.

"You care to explain why Ruby was screaming then?" She opted. Crowley rolled his eyes, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, trying to appear nonchalant.

"You like to bend them right over, don't you?" Crowley shot back, eyes glancing up and keeping in sight the elevator. Just a few more yards and he'd be free to leave. He could hear Abaddon chuckling, but it sounded forced and hummed more than anything else.

"I wouldn't have a job if I beat around the bush, now would I?" Abaddon quickened, "Besides," She approached, "I'm only asking because I was- _worried_ , about dear old Ruby. She sounded terrified."

"I would be too if I saw you walking into the room."

"Dammit, Crowley!" She stepped in front of him, right as he was nearing the elevator and effective cutting off his step. "What did she _tell_ you?"

Crowley paused, eyebrows knitting together as he looked her over, eyes glancing between her own. "Why does it matter to you?" He questioned, upturning his head to look at her more directly. Whatever was eating at her was about to push her into a full out panic, like some sort of "huge" secret had been revealed to him that he wasn't supposed to know about.

Abaddon missed a beat, "Why shouldn't it?"

Crowley had a _very_ good answer at the tip of his tongue, but knew better than to actually say it. Clicking his tongue, he stepped past her. "Make somebody happy, Abaddon. Mind your own business."

"She _is_ my business. You seem to forget she's on _my_ team."

"Then ask her your own _bloody_ self!" He snapped, "If it's _really_ so goddamn important to you." Finally, he reached the elevator, finger deftly calling the lift and waiting a moment for it to approach. However, Abaddon clicked the button to close the doors just as they were sliding open.

"You do realize that I have a company to overlook, and you're keeping me from my duty's?" He spat in his agitation, finally turning to face her.

"Tell me what she said to you." She demanded, causing Crowley to upturn his eyebrow.

"Have you forgotten that you work below me? Or has your ego gotten so big that you've chosen to ignore that I'm your superior?" Crowley drawled, smirking in near amusement as watched her jaw set.

"No need to remind me the monkey in the suit get's a better pay grade than me." She snarled, and Crowley could have honestly laughed.

"Oh darling, I put the _sin_ in bu _sin_ ess. What have you ever accomplished?"

For some reason, Abaddon smirked at that. Licking her lower lip before answering, "Nothing." She stated simply. "Not yet, anyways."

"Well, get back to me when you figure that out." He turned away, and this time Abaddon let him.

"Don't worry," She teased, and if Crowley hadn't had more composure than he did, he would have grimaced. "You'll see it when it happens, much like everyone else." Her red painted fingernails reached forward, pressing the button to recall the elevator before eventually turning and walking away. Crowley watched her leave uncertainly, chewing the inside of his cheek before turning his attention back to the doors. They slid open near silently, and Crowley quickly slipped his way inside.

He sighed softly to himself, watching as the doors slid shut in front of him.

The hell was that supposed to mean? Crowley wondered vaguely, looking at the board before pressing his floor number. She must be working on some sort of huge project, because he felt her cockiness from where he was standing. Whatever it was, it better be worth the time, or else she'd end up being another big waste with big dreams.

Crowley rubbed his hands over his face when he felt the elevator beginning to lift, figuring that he'd finish talking to Ruby later. He still needed to figure out whats gotten into her, and why she was talking like that-- maybe she started up again due to stress in the office? It's been a rough few week's for all of them, but perhaps all of it crashed around her. Crowley couldn't know for certain, and at the moment he was just too tired to let himself worry unnecessarily on troublesome topics that he could worry over another time. It's been a long day, and it's about time he finally began heading home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Crowley's a bit of a dynamic character, and I don't want to underrate who he is when we're just getting him from Bobby's perspective. There's a great deal of layers to him, akin to his morals and beliefs and I hate how I don't get around to showing them all that much.
> 
> And just because Bobby and Crowley are [unofficially] together, doesn't mean we're anywhere close to finishing, get ready for a bit of a storm.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy rusted metal, Batman! How'd I hit 100 Kudo's? You guy's are fucking amazing, and I adore each and every one of you. I want to take this moment and thank all of you for actually sitting down and reading my story, and for all the comments and views and even the messages sent to me via tumblr. I get so excited when I hear from you guys and I loved hearing the constructive criticism and the remarks and when I even get a new view. Thank you guys so much, I've got some surprises for you guys these next few chapters and I'm glad you guy's are enjoying yourselves. I didn't really have much intention of going through with writing this story, but because of the really positive feedback I was able to make myself sit down and plan out the whole plot of this story and all the chapters, so really, thank you.
> 
> One other thing-- I want to apologize for taking so long to update these chapters. I have to script them out, write it, edit it, and add what I've missed (give it all those juicy details) before I can post it; and writings hard. It takes time to make up something you're proud to post (and I'm hella picky). And now I have school, college classes, and a job on top of working on this story along with Red Scarfs and Black Mittens, I'm fitting in as much time as I can on this story; and I'm really sorry for being slow. (But because of my slowness, I give you my longest chapter yet and it's filled with good crobby stuff to make up for the time I've wasted.) Hopefully when I get this chaos in order, the updates'll be faster. ^^
> 
> Now, without any further ado.

Long days with seconds that ticked by as hours felt like an eternity spent or wasted on nothing, and having a vague if not blunt feeling that the day still wasn't quite over was one of the worst feelings imaginable and Bobby hated that gnawing sensation more than he hated just about everything else.

Whether it was a rather mundane act of simply getting a glass of water before bed, or needing to set out an outfit for the next day; it was that underlining feeling that something else had to be done, and that things just weren't finished for the day. A plate full of options and deeds that, for whatever given reason it may have had, it just _can't_ be put off until the next day. He would never describe it as inspirations, or a sudden burst of adrenaline or encouragement to clean the whole house at four in the morning or watch an entire television series when he should be sleeping; that was on a whole different plane of existence of its own, but he imagines that they're on the same wavelengths of phenomena's that occur when the lights were supposed to be out, and the only thing he should be worrying about is how to untangle the blankets from his legs without moving too much.

Bobby can say that in his life that he's experienced some days that seemed to flash by in a blink of an eye, and days that felt as if they dragged on for years, and to say that today was just one of those days would have been an exaggerated understatement.

If Bobby could have chosen to do absolutely anything today, he would have picked research without a moments hesitation; however, staying in bed all day sounded a million times more pleasing than anything else in that moment.

He was tired, frustrated, and couldn't wait to get home; almost surpassing the speed limit on several occasions but figured he'd be better safe than sorry-- if he wrecked, he couldn't eat. So he stayed at the speed limit, huffing to himself about constant red lights, and the cold temperature, and even worse the 15 mph speed limits on a disconnected highway with no one on the road. He just wanted to get home.

Bobby had no intention of leaving his house, he truly didn't. He didn't have anything planned, didn't having a single thing scheduled and figured it'd be just another wake-up call, a few things to look up and perhaps even finish his book if he had the time. That's not what happened. What _happened_ was getting a call late at night from his old pal looking for a bit of help.

Rufus, evidently, had been dealing with car troubles, and couldn't even drive the old hunk of rusted metal to the Salvage Yard. Bobby, being the good friend he was, had taken the time out of his day to drive all the way down and check out the problem; the problem being, naturally, everything. _Good god_ , when Rufus was grumbling on the phone about just " _needing a quick oil change_ " he couldn't have possibly been any more vague when underestimating the damage. Bobby had urged him to get a new truck, but the man outright refused time and time again. Kept saying that it's just the weather that's making it a bit worn for wear, however Bobby knew that if he just breathed on the damn thing it'd turn to dust and dirt only to be blown away by the wind. Yet no matter how much or how hard he would argue with him, there was just no way of getting around it; so he spend the past few days trying to fix it up as best he could, and it's going to take a _hell_ of a lot more than just some damn _oil change._

Rufus was just a hoarding old bastard, and has owned this beaten and broken down truck since before Bobby even knew him. Bobby simply assumed that sentimental value of the truck was perhaps the only reason Rufus even bothered with the piece of junk. Bobby wasn't one to speak, however, seeing as most of what he owned, that was useless per say, still hadn't hit the garbage due to him not having the heart to do it.

Having a predilection for junk was never his best quality.

Needless to say, the past three day's had been long, which again, Bobby couldn't stress enough. For the most part he drove and ran around town with a barking Rufus in his passenger seat, demanding they only get the best supplies for his baby and trying to find a new Carburetor for his _damn tacky_ rusted blue 64' Ford pickup. Rufus may have been one of his close friends, but goddamn could he be obnoxious as hell when it came to his truck. Bobby kept most of his undignified comments to himself, because honestly he still had a bit of common decency and especially when Rufus was in the equation-- he still owed him one.

It's been an aggravatingly long and dragging three days, and all he wanted to do at this point was get something to eat, and crawl into his _own_ damn bed; however, the day didn't seem to be quite finished with him just yet. Finally stepping into his home after the long drive back from Canaan, Vermont, which, by the way, is already a 23 hour drive to and from, _without_ breaks and he was pretty damn tired, just to make his way inside and nearly slip on a puddle.

Bobby just barely caught himself from falling, his arm outstretching and catching himself on the door frame, huffing to himself as he automatically assumed that some of the snow had been stuck to the bottom of his shoes and slicked over. Unfortunately this wasn't the case when his gaze dropped, feeling the sudden tension between his brows intensify and his stomach drop when he saw the mess.

Water was everywhere, pooling and spreading over his wood floors. Bobby didn't give himself time to tear off his coat as he dashed over to the askew lower cabinet doors resting directly under the sink. Something had popped and busted and water was getting everywhere. Bobby rushed downstairs into his basement, careful to hold himself on the railing from slipping on his steps; quickly skittering over his items and materials until his eyes fell onto that makeshift Christmas tree Meg had made. He paused, for a good moment until something clicked; he knew he didn't have a replacement pipe, but he knew he could hold it over until tomorrow. Bobby rushed around, snagging things off cabinets and shelves, rushing back up the steps two at a time until he nearly slid on the water drenched floors.

Dropping to his knee's in the freezing cold puddle, physically wincing as goosebumps shot up his legs and festered over his skin. He wrapped his already chilled fingers around the filthy frozen rusted pipe, tugging at the torn and flimsy duct tape that had been previously applied, ripped and cracked, no longer sticky on the inside. Bobby tore off as much as he could, tossing it to his side to deal with later; pulling the duct tape from under his armpit and trying to readjust the bent pipe, putting it where it wouldn't squirt water and quickly snagged the edge of the strong tape with his teeth, pulling it into a long strip with an obscene ripping sound before pulling the end closer to the tape roll around the pipe; tearing it and wrapping up the damage as best he could to last a few hours.

Bobby placed the roll of tape above himself with a disgruntled sigh, lightly thudding on the counter as he checked to see what else could have been damaged. Bobby imagined it must have busted due to the bitter cold weather, but he also knew that the sink's pipe has been in desperate need to be fixed up for a long time. Bobby can faintly remember his own Mother and Father arguing about it; how the sink never worked properly, the water pressure low and how it'd suddenly bust and water would get everywhere. His own dad would flip his cap every time it happened, and Bobby can remember being about six years old and hiding in his room when he heard him start yelling.

Ed, his father, never did get around to fixing it, but Bobby felt like it was more in selfish spite and stubbornness than really anything else. His dad was a mechanic, much like he was, so Bobby knew was was more than capable of doing it. It would have been done in just a couple of minutes if he actually just sat down and pushed himself-- but he never did. When Bobby had finally inherited the house after his mother passed and father left, him and Karen had been staying in it. They had all these plans to move out and get a nice new home with a white picket fence and a backyard that wasn't cluttered in cars, with no leaks during a storm and an air conditioner that actually wanted to work in the summer time. They had all these plans about putting her through college and getting a better home and a better life. He'd been working on double shifts to save up enough to help with tuition, while Karen worked as a waitress part-time while taking classes.

They had every intention of leaving this house behind, and they'd been able to save up a good sum of money over the course of two years until she finally fell severely ill. All the money they'd saved up for her college was put into paying off her medical bills and eventually all of it amounted to nothing.

But Bobby knew that he could never have found a better place to put that money, no matter how hard he'd think about it; there was nothing else he would have cared to waste and give than to waste and give to her.

Bobby never moved out, never could after that and quit working at the shop altogether; It was too hard for him to get out of bed for a while, and leaving his house felt impossible, so he just stopped leaving it. Made a decent sum on hunts and personal jobs on cars with car owners that think that actual car shops were too damn expensive. It's gotten to the point where he's even got a few regulars come over every other week for a decent fix up that Bobby could even count them on both hands and name each of them off the back of his head. It payed well, needless to say.

The hunter snickered soundlessly, smiling to himself. He can remember Karen's and his first winter together when the pipe under the sink broke, the pipe having been, and still was, too small to properly fit. He tried simply patching it up, but it happened again, constantly for week's he'd simply patched it up and never went out to get a replacement pipe. Bobby can still remember them fighting about it, hearing her voice in the back of his mind shouting " _When are you gonna fix that damn pipe?_ " and how she'd trip up on her words when she got so frustrated, how she'd stomp and swing her hips, because honestly, they were both just a couple of kids trying to make a life for themselves right out of high school, they were still so young. " _I've asked you to patch it up_ week's _ago. Just head down to the store and get another-_ "

She knew perfectly well they didn't have the money to do that, they barely had enough to feed themselves as it was; saving up as much as they could for her college fund. Bobby enjoyed working as a mechanic, and if at least one of them went to college, they realized that they'd be far better off. Regardless, Bobby never did go out and get that extra pipe, and he never got around to actually fixing the damage.

He was similar to his father in that one aspect, if nothing else.

However, Bobby never just _didn't_ do it out of spite or stubbornness, unlike his father. They were always so busy all the time, he never got _around_ to fixing it up; and after she passed he just didn't have the heart to. It was a ridiculous thing to cling to in thought of her, and if she ever wanted him to do _anything_ after she passed, he was pretty sure the sink was somewhere on top of that list. He knew how much it annoyed her, and it annoyed him too at some level; he just loved it when she'd get all huffy with this pinched expression she'd be sporting so delicately.

Bobby missed their little fights. They didn't have very many of them towards the end, not that he was complaining, but they didn't have much of anything towards the end either.

The hunter glanced at the pipes almost thoughtfully, hearing a high pitched bark from behind himself that caught his attention; eyes shooting over to find a half drenched Rottweiler shivering almost violently in the other room, hovering right at the doorway connecting his living room from his kitchen, pointedly avoiding the water as much as he could, whimpering with his tail between his legs. Bobby felt the laugh rise up before he realized it, pushing himself to his feet and moving his way to Rumsfeld. "Oh, buddy." He scratched behind his ear, patting his leg and getting the Rottweiler to follow. It didn't take two and two to realize that he got the first blast of the broken pipe.

Rumsfeld trotted behind him obediently as the hunter skipped up the steps, taking two at a time until he reached the top floor, making his way to the hallways closet and pulling out a towel, opening it up and dropping it on his dog. Bobby dropped to his knee's, and in an instant Rumsfeld brushed closer, nuzzling his freezing soaked head against the outside of the hunters coat; Bobby chuckled, grabbing the towel and running it over his companions back and head, trying to dry him off as best as he could. The cold water eventually soaked through, but at that point most of it was off of Rumsfeld's short fine fur. 

Bobby made a mental note to turn up the heat a bit tonight, scratching behind the Rottweilers ear as he slid the towel off of his back. "Y'feel better?" He muttered, not receiving a straight answer as Rumsfeld pressed the tip of his nose against Bobby's chest, looking up at him with his tail wagging excitedly behind him. "Good boy."

The hunter pushed to his feet, his dog's nails scuttering on the ground as he followed him back down the steps, trotting in front of him in passing before he jumped onto the couch, dropping his heavy body onto the cushions, lying in such a way so he could keep an eye on Bobby as the hunter strolled back into the kitchen.

Bobby dropped the towel onto the floor, stepping over most of the cold water as best as he could and kicking the bottom cabinet drawers shut, stepping around in some tuneless dance with his shoe stepping in the middle of the towel, swiping it over the floor until it soaked up as much as it could and he had to snag up another on to finish up the job. It took about twenty or so minutes for him to wipe the place down and soak up a majority of the water, and ended up mopping up his filthy kitchen floor in the process, another thing he procrastinated greatly on.

After he'd finally cleaned up the mess, he tossed the towels into the washer to start cleaning them up, making his way back up the steps from his basement, pulling his coat off as he went. It was late, and he needed to at least start settling in. Bobby tossed his coat onto his kitchen table, finally flicking on the lights. The hunter pressed the palms of his hands against the small of his back, pressing back and feeling the sudden _pops_ in the center of his spine, sighing softly before relaxing. He hated long car drives, especially when he was all by himself for 23 hours with nothing to listen to but the road. It was a goddamn miracle he didn't fall asleep at the wheel.

He never did get around to replacing his car radio after it had been stolen; add that to the list of things he's been putting off for no good reason.

Bobby was tempted to order himself some food, trying to remember which places still did delivery around eleven at night when he felt his phone buzzing in his back pocket, mussing the idea that maybe it was Justin from the Chinese restaurant reading his mind when he slid the device from the rear of his jeans. He checked his phone, feeling his grin drop when he saw who it was.

Bobby faltered, looking abortively at Crowley's name as it blinked on his phones screen, vibrating in his hand.

They hadn't really spoken much after their rather anticipated and yet alarming moment behind covered and misplaced bookshelves, when Bobby had ungracefully slammed into him, once again. It was every single time-- That first time at the grocery store, the second time at the Library. It was like the universe was trying to make him look like a fool; more specifically, trying to make him look like a fool in front of _Crowley_. He couldn't get a break.

After the whole incident, he hadn't heard from him for days, then he suddenly got a text saying that he was leaving on a business trip. Then again, nothing. Bobby had assumed that Crowley figured out that he actually _didn't_ want the hunter, and this was his way of letting him down slowly. Honestly, he tried not to think about it too deeply, and did his best to hide his disappointment. He didn't open up easily, and the Scotsmen made him splay himself out in the open for anyone to see and it was unnerving how easily he was able to get him to do so. 

Bobby wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he still pressed _send_ and brought the device to his ear, might as well figure out what's going on; specifically, between them. "Hello?"

" _Hello, darling. Miss me?_ " Came the hoarse reply. Bobby's ears perked at the sound, a bit withdrawn as he quirked a brow.

"You alright? You sound like hell." Bobby commented, pressing his back against his kitchen counter. He glanced up into the other room, seeing Rumsfeld's ears perked, falling when his compainion seemed to notice he was on the phone.

There was a soft sound on the other end, something between a hum and a groan and Bobby couldn't quite tell which was worse. " _I'm fine, it's just been a rough few weeks. How've you been, love? I haven't spoken to you in a fortnight._ " He spoke, almost apologetically. Maybe Crowley wasn't trying to get rid of him after all.

"I've been doing good, running around as per usual." He responded, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nothing much since you've last seen me."

" _Good, no having fun without me._ " If it wasn't eleven at night, Bobby would have assumed he was being serious, but the faint lift in his tone indicated otherwise. Bobby was going to make some lighthearted retort when he suddenly heard faint honking over the phone, blinking at the sound.

"Are you driving?" He asked incredulously. The hell was he thinkin'? He was gonna get himself killed.

" _Not if you don't say anything._ " Came the retort, and when Bobby tried listening closer, he could make out those faint but distinct sound of an engine and wind blowing against-- something; Bobby assumed was a windshield. The fact that he could hear it told him that Crowley was very obviously on a highway.

"You know you could have waited to call me." The hunter stated lamely, although he found it incredibly endearing how the Scotsmen couldn't wait to get a hold of him. Crowley made a scoffing sound on the other end.

" _And risk the chance of you being asleep? No thank you, darling, I've been waiting two weeks to talk to you. I'm sure nobody minds I don't have both hands on the wheel._ "

"Alright hotshot, I'll try to remember to repeat that at your funeral." Bobby grumbled, smirking at the obscene groan on the other end.

" _Oh look at you, worrying over me. How cute._ " Crowley chuckled, " _I promise I'll stop if you tell me what you're wearing._ "

Bobby rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt, "Take a wild guess."

" _I want to say stiletto's and a flannel._ "

Bobby snorted, "Well, you're not completely wrong."

" _Mm, Just the stiletto's then?_ "

"Jesus Crowley," Bobby laughed, he couldn't help it. The last few week's were a bit rough, more on the physical side and he's left his desk far more times than he was honestly comfortable with; All of that and feeling like he did something wrong, it was incredibly satisfying to hear the other again. He swallowed, shifting on his feet. "How was Rome?"

He heard a muffled sound on the other end, and he couldn't tell if it was a laugh or a sigh or somewhere in between. " _Sexy, if you have a fetish for sculptures and architecture._ " Crowley drawled, sighing " _Business as per usual,_ " There was a verbal pause, like the other was considering something before eventually just saying it. It was in a way that reminded the hunter of weighing options before saying _fuck it_ and walking down the road less traveled by. " _How long in the relationship do we have to be for it to be acceptable for me to admit I've missed you?_ "

Bobby was quiet a long moment, feeling his cheeks become warm, not even bothering to fight the small smile as it spread on his lips. "I don't know." He responded honestly.

Crowley hummed softly in response, " _Well, I missed you._ "

The hunter snorted, "Then I'd say about two weeks." He replied, smiling gently into the phone. The motion reminded him of back in high school, seeing his friends twirling the phone cord idly as they spoke to their current boyfriend or girlfriend; He wanted to say he missed him too; felt the words on the tip of his tongue, but bit down on his cheek to prevent himself from saying it. He didn't know why he stopped, he just did. Clearing his throat, his didn't believe that Crowley thought he'd say it back, and he didn't seem to be pushing for it or shooting in that direction so Bobby didn't try. He heard a soft laugh on the other end.

" _Mhm, what else can we do in about two weeks?_ " Crowley mused, and if Bobby hadn't been so flustered, he might have come up with a half-way decent retort.

"Let's just start with seeing each other first, alright ya idjit?" The hunter replied, looking down at his hands. Bobby nearly grimaced at how filthy they were, finally seeming to notice the grime; It must have come off of the pipe, the filthy thing. Shifting on his heel's, he turned around to the sink, carefully turning the faucet and waiting to see what happened. After a dragging moment, water began pouring from the tap and so far he didn't see nor hear the busted pipe leaking; good enough.

"So how was your two week's in paradise?" Bobby questioned, adjusting the temperature of his tap before finally checking if it was warm enough for washing.

" _Two week's of hell, actually. I'm glad to be back in the states._ " Crowley stated rancorously on the other end, the weariness evident in his tone.

Bobby held the phone up by his shoulder, struggling to tote it properly as he tried washing the residue rust from his hands.

The hunter hummed in response, rubbing the soap over his hands to try and scrap off whatever was attached. "You're probably the only person I know who complains about traveling." He commented, rinsing off his hands and snagging the towel hanging off the handle of his stove.

" _Oh traveling is wonderful, truly. But all that work and no-play is what's aggravating._ " Bobby could hear a moments shuffling on the others end, figuring that maybe he was adjusting his phone but he wasn't sure. " _Romes a wonderful vacation spot, but it's the fact that I_ wasn't on _vacation._ " The man groaned, the sound reverberating faintly through the hunters ear piece. " _Planning, scheduling, terrible food._ " There was a humourless chuckle on the other end, " _Besides, if it were a vacation I'd be seeing a lot less paperwork and a lot more you._ "

Bobby grinned, shifting the phone until he was holding it again, straightening his neck. "Sounds more like a punishment than an ideal vacation." He murmured.

" _Oh, don't be so modest, doll._ " Crowley teased, " _I'd pick you over paperwork any day._ "

"Real cute," The hunter shot back with vague sarcasm, turning on his heel and strolling into his living room. His steps were more absentminded and served no real purpose, he didn't have anything he had to get to doing at this point in time. "How you feelin'?"

" _Sluggish, certainly tired. I've got a bit of jet lag but I'm assuming I'll be able to sleep that off,_ " He bemoaned, " _However, because I've been a good boy I get to have a mandatory three day's off of work, which I'm excited for._ " Crowley thrummed, " _Overall, I feel gross and I need a shower._ " 

Bobby smiled faintly at that, "How far away from your apartment are you?"

" _Uhm.. I'll be driving past Mercy Hospital in a few minutes by the looks of it-- So, a little over 20 or so minutes? 25 tops._ " 

Bobby pressed his tailbone against the edge of his desk, looking forward into the kitchen. "Well, are you hungry?"

" _Starving, actually._ " Came the rather twirled reply, " _Why?_ "

"Well, I uhm-" Bobby crossed his legs at the ankle, wrapping his free arm around his middle with his hand grasping at his opposite upper arm; adjusting his position. Almost as if he was trying to come off as nonchalant and as natural as he could and not seem pushy. Bobby knew that Crowley couldn't see him, but doing so made him feel a bit more confident. "I haven't seen you in a little over two weeks, and I was uhm.. _wondering_ if you'd like to go out and get somethin' to eat?" God, he sounded like an moron. However, if Crowley thought so or noticed, he didn't comment on it.

Crowley made a dragged out and teasing _oh_ sound, drawing it out in a sultry lilt. " _Is big ol' Robert Singer trying to take little ol' me out on a date?_ " He could distinctly hear the smugness in his tone, " _You're so precious, pet._ "

"Well, if you don't want to-"

" _I never said that,_ " Crowley cut back in delightfully, swimming along towards playfully. " _I'd love to rendezvous with you. You've got a plan, or was this spur of the moment?_ "

"Both." The hunter admitted, receiving a small chuckle from the other end.

" _Well then, good. Then we'll both be surprised._ "

The hunter grinned at that, turning his gaze towards Rumsfeld, his dog watching him disinterestedly, but seeing as he was the only other living thing in the room his gaze was automatically drawn. "Alright, I'll drive down in about half an hour, so shower, get dressed, whatever." He paused before something came to mind, "But _no_ suits, you gotta wear street clothes like the rest of us this time."

" _You're no fun._ " The Scotsmen drawled, sighing over dramatically. " _But alright, I suppose. I'll see if I can dig something up._ "

"Good, I'll text you when I'm on my way."

" _Duly noted. I'll see you soon._ " They said their goodbyes quickly, Bobby not really one to enjoy spending unnecessary time on the phone in general, and Crowley was still driving so he shouldn't even be _on_ his. Bobby knew he was a bit old fashioned, but it was _common sense_ ; He might bring it up to him at some point, but really, it wasn't his call. He imagined Crowley was on his phone a lot when he drove, and how could a few choice words cut down an old habit? They couldn't. It's like asking that kid in class to put down their book because the teacher was lecturing, only to look over a few minutes later to see their noses buried once again.

Bobby was like that most of the time in school. He got in trouble a lot because of it, however.

He never did it out of spite of his teacher, though-- just never had the time to do it at home; not until his later years at least.

Bobby pressed _end_ and set the phone onto the cover of one of his books, resting on his desktop before slipping off his cap. Looking down at himself a moment, he felt himself internally grimace; his clothes were filthy, and he hadn't been able to shower in three days. He had no intention of making it four.

Clutching the side of his desk, Bobby kicked off his shoes, letting them fall beside him before heading upstairs. His footsteps creaked on his wooden stairs, briefly thinking about all those times he could have replaced the floor boards for them but never got around to it; there were so many things he needed to fix in his house, but if it wasn't flooding his home or reeking to high heaven's, he didn't give much of it a second thought.

Snagging a towel on his way to his washroom, Bobby turned the tap, adjusting it before switching it towards the shower head; there was a soft sputter before it did as it was told, the water pattering steadily and the hunter wasted no time at all before stripping out of his clothes. He dropped them onto his bathroom floor to worry about later, stepping around to the warm spray and felt the temperature slowly but surely change. The hunter was quick to stepping behind the curtains, letting the water spray against his back as he settled beneath it.

Goosebumps ran over his skin, spreading over him as he moved around under the water. Bobby made quick work of washing out his hair, feeling everything disgusting and oily about it wash away until he felt fresher again; having to lather his hair again due to the suds coming out a darker colour. Working with grease and oil did that, more often than not. Scrubbing himself off as best as he could, making sure he didn't have anywhere he missed, doing a double take before quickly rinsing off; scrubbing his fingertips through his wet hair as he tried to get everything out. Showering at this point was more thoughtless in movements and mechanical motions than any real thought out gestures; quick and efficient and he loved how the warm water relaxed his tense muscles and the steam was liquid heat against his skin.

Showers were just one of those things that were taken for granted, but Bobby can name at least a hundred different occasions where he's stood in the shower, not quite cleaning himself but not quite dawdling, and he's come up with all sorts of abnormal things. He's been able to sort through situations he knew he had to inevitably face and how to go about doing it, playing scenario's out in his head to prepare for later.

He couldn't be the only person who found the shower to be a sacred place.

Bobby believed it had something to do with the vulnerability a person was placed in when in the shower; naked, wet, and unable to see around them. Always sure that they were alone, which made them susceptible for acting strangely away from the peering eyes of others. When clothes were on, it was like they were a shield; armor in a way that changes an attitude by the slightest degree's, especially when around others.

But when clothes fall off, it's taking away that extra weight and extra security that now has to be made up by attitude and thought, even when nobodies around to see it when in the shower. Bobby always believed that people became more daring when their clothes weren't wrapped around their body, seeing as they've already gotten this far, they might as well hit the extra mile; That's where the cases of singing in the shower come from, when they won't do so in front of others, and with some of the best idea's beating around, they always came when he was under his infrequent water pressure. Left to his own devices it seemed.

At least that's what the hunter assumed it was.

Bobby liked taking showers, mostly because he didn't like walking around and being able to smell himself. He had this subconscious weariness about all of his insignificant flaws when by himself, let alone around others; how bad did he look? When was the last time he showered or washed his hands? Did he smell or look dirty? It was a bit of everything, although he typically refused to leave his home without being at least sensibly clean in the first place. Tattered clothes or not, they had to be straight, and he always wore his cap to prevent worrying too much about his hair.

He wasn't really picky about appearance, but he didn't want to look as if he'd been rolling in dirt. It was reasonable things; little things he doubted people honestly noticed, but it made him feel better about himself. So, he showered, as much as he could given his schedule, and it left him washing up every other day it seemed, but it wasn't too bad; it wasn't as if he did much during his days but sit around, so it wasn't as if he was ever filthy to begin with-- excluding when he worked with cars.

Bobby scrubbed himself down one more time before shutting off the faucet, a hand reaching almost blindly past the curtain until his fingers brushed against the distinct surface of cloth, wrapping around it and pulling it inside of the shower with him. Humming to himself softly, he scrubbed the towel over and through his hair, the wet strands sticking to his forehead and he attempted to slick them back, hastily dragging the towel over his body to get some sort of significance of dry before steeping outside of his shower.

The room had steam fluttering inside of it, the mirror all fogged up but he payed the familiar sights no mind, drying himself off as best as he could before wrapping the towel around his hips. The hallway felt chilled as he ventured out, bare feet padding against the floorboards as he skid into his room, muttering to himself while he reached for his drawers poking and searching through them.

He still wasn't sure where he was going to take Crowley to eat.

When he'd asked, he hadn't exactly thought the whole thing through; didn't consider which places Crowley would actually like to go, or if he would rather actually sleep than get something to eat, however he didn't object the notion. He wondered briefly what he had in mind, but figured he'd cross that bridge when he got there; he would be leaving in a little bit, so he had some time to mull it over.

Fingers brushing over the band of his boxer's, he slipped them out, tossing them to the edge of his bed as he checked through other drawers. Jeans and a T-shirt were tossed with his boxers, snatching out some socks before letting his towel fall to his heel's, pooling around his ankles and stepping out of it. Dressing smoothly enough, adjusting his jeans on his hips and snatching a belt, looping it through before adjusting his shirt. He made a point not to grab a flannel this time around, seeing as most of them had holes and stains on them, he made a subconscious decision to keep himself as up-kept as he could while still not in a suit.

However, his cap wasn't out of the question.

Strolling downstairs to snatch his hat off of his desk, Bobby brushed back a few wet strands from his face before pulling the cap down, flicking the brim up to straighten it. Pulling on his shoes he then went on the hunt for his keys he knew he had laying around.. _somewhere_. He just couldn't remember where he tossed them.

Fifteen minutes of going through shelves and tracing his steps, he eventually found them buried in his coat pocket, feeling like a complete idjit that he didn't just check there first; one of the more obvious places it could have been hidden anyways. Grumbling to himself, he pushed his way out the door, waving goodbye to a drifting Rumsfeld who barely stirred as the door slammed shut.

One thing Bobby was certain of, as he stepped through his back door for what felt like the millionth time in his life, was that he was sick to death of the bitter cold. Bobby was looking forward to spring, to summer; he was looking forward to green grass and lush tree's and all those goddamn pesky insects that grow so big he can't even go near them unless he's wearing a full body suit and toting a blow torch. Bobby wasn't scared of bugs, but he wasn't ashamed to admit that if they were as big as the pad of his thumb, he didn't want to be within 10 feet of it-- especially if it flew.

Regardless, Bobby missed the warmth. The cold was getting to him, and making him feel tired constantly. His mood was always dragging in the mud and it'd be nice to see the sun again after so long of it being hidden behind thick impenetrable clouds. It's been a long winter, and it's about high time the sun starts coming around once again.

Bobby trailed through his already shoveled walkway to his truck, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets as he stumbled inside. It was a bit chilled, but not nearly as crisp as it was outside, the truck still holding a bit of the warmth from when he was blasting the heater from earlier, breathing heat into the palms of his hands and sliding them together to cause friction; breathing out a soft puff of air, he turned on his car, quickly working for the heating dial and rounded it to full blast. Bobby made sure to shoot Crowley a quick text, letting him know he was on his way and ' _-no goddamn suits, you smarmy idjit._ '

He heard his phone buzz again before he was able to get driving, the message reading ' _Wouldn't dream of it, doll._ ' flashing on his screen briefly, and all Bobby did was roll his eyes, the sides of his lips upturning slightly as he finally shifted his truck in gear and reversed his way out of the Salvage Yard and back onto the road. Bobby didn't look at the time as his tires finally hit the practically graveled street, the sound of slushed snow quickly shifting into something rougher was easily distinguishable over the sound of his engine.

It was dark, darker than it was when he finally stumbled into his home after sitting on his ass and driving for over 20 hours trying to get home only to jump back into his car and begin driving away again. He felt as if he should be sick of car's at this point, sick of looking at them all the time, sick of listening to them grumble and fail; maybe there was a lot of things he should be sick of at this point, he just wasn't. And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

Bobby actually loved the way's car's looked, regardless of looking at them so much, and the purr of the engine-- or smokers cough, he liked to call them, were comforting to his ears. He always liked to think that it was because cars were a bit of a passion of his, but when he thought about the sounds, he can remember back all those years ago when he was about four or so years old, sitting in the passenger seat next to his own mom and she would be playing Dave Matthew's on the stereo in her old beat up car that Bobby can't remember much about. It was before his dad got into drinking; it was before a lot of things began going downhill.

They used to go to the store a lot, his mom loved to make pies and cakes because she loved how they tasted and how they filled their old home with that warm apple and cinnamon smell and he always supposed it was because the smells always reminded her of autumn. Before everything, she used to talk about how much she loved the tree's and the leaves, and the only reason Bobby remembers most to any of those conversations, is because he can remember her grabbing his hand and taking him outside to find some crunchy leaves for them to step on.

She used to laugh more when he was younger than she ever did while he was growing up, and Bobby knew he missed her smile.

People change, they always have; for better or for worse, it happens and Bobby knew it better than most.

But driving didn't change, the roads he grew up on and played on and now worked on so far hadn't changed. Yeah they've gotten paved over, they've been cleaned a bit and fixed up, maybe widened a bit down the street but the road was still the road he knew all his life. Cleaning something up and changing it doesn't mean the original was gone, it was just painted over and fixed; made better in some cases, worse in others, but it was still the same road. It still went two ways and joined into a crossroads a few miles north, it still sat in the same spot and was still surrounded by the same tree's, and it was that familiarity that made the hunter so comfortable.

Change could be bad, but sometimes it wasn't, and you had to look for the little changes that didn't hurt anybody to know that not everything was all bad in the world.

Growing up in a abusive home, Bobby learned to appreciate the simpler things in life; paved roads, and busted faucets being just a few examples.

He always enjoyed driving, however; that much, unlike most, wasn't going to change.

It was a sense of freedom, like he owned the road and it paved it's way out for him. It gave him a sense of security and safety to think that one day when things get rough, he could just jump into his truck and drive. He could drive in any direction to no where and he would never have to stop.

He did that once; ended up in Japan after his wife died, and stuck out there for a few months before returning to America. Escaping his problems was never the option, but he didn't care all that much about whether it was the good choice or the bad choice-- wrong or right, or just plain stupid; it felt comforting to know that even if it wasn't the best option, it was still an option and he liked to know that there was an escape, regardless of how short lived or brief it may be.

Bobby gripped his steering wheel, stretching his fingers absently before letting them collapse around the steering. Eye's flickering over to the time now and again on his car's dash, counting out the miles and how long he assumed it'd take to get there; he thought about where they might even eat, because he still as of yet had come up with a place they could both agree to go to.

Crowley disliked most things cold, that included Ice cream and simple frozen things like that; if it wasn't a drink, he more often than not refused it. Although he had this terrible habit of sucking and chewing on Ice when he became bored, but would downright refuse a Popsicle even if his life depended on it. It was all just silly things-- He wouldn't eat anything stringy, or with too many colours-- or even drink something that wasn't completely clear. He was a picky eater, Bobby knew that much, and the more he thought about it, it honestly narrowed down his options to only a few select places.

Bobby had a few vague idea's as to where they could go when he finally got to pulling into the other's apartment driveway. It's been a while since he's been here, and he wondered if the woman at the front desk would recognize him; he brushed off the thoughts, reminding himself that acting like an idle minded idiot wasn't going to cut it, especially since this was going to be the first time he's seen Crowley since-- well, the library.

To be honest he was actually a bit nervous.

It was the little things he began to grow conscious of as he pushed from his truck, deliberately keeping it running as he shuffled up to the main doors of the apartment building; which were illuminated by lights and making them seem more like the gates to heaven rather than just the doors to some silly rich lobby. They shined brightly in comparison to how dark it was outside, and Bobby found himself squinting to adjust his eyes as he finally stepped inside, blinking a few times and nodding to the ever-smiling front clerk as he quickly jogged over to the elevator, trying to gather himself all the way through.

When the doors closed and he pressed the man's floor number, he began to fidget.

Was his clothes straight? Did his clothes look too dirty? Did he forget something at home? He had his money on him didn't he? Bobby patted his jean's pockets a moment, nearly panicking before sighing out in relief, feeling the familiar bulge of his wallet in his back pocket, his teeth catching his lower lip and forced himself to breathe through his nose. He felt his heart racing as the elevator rose and he felt suddenly very hot, his cheek's and neck were warm and he tried to blame it on the sudden change in temperature due to the cold outside; although some part of him knew that wasn't entirely true.

It was just a simple little dinner date, that's all this was.

Bobby's breath caught up in his throat the more he thought about it.

A date? This is what this was? Well, it _had_ to be, right? There was the confessing and the kissing, and now, as cliche as it was, there would be dinner. Bobby tugged at the ends of his sleeves, watching the dial almost anxiously as it slowly raised from floor to floor.

He was going on a date. He was taking Crowley, one of his best friends, Co-CEO of the largest corporation in history, on a _date_. Another man and himself were going out to eat and it was barely registering the velocity of taking the other out on a date, or why he was there until he finally hit the sixth floor.

He could do this, he tried to reassure himself. He was anxious as hell, that was for sure, but he could do this. Hesitantly, he took his first step out of the elevator before pushing himself forward, picking up the pace to the Scotsmen's door that Bobby's visited before so many times before. He was shaky and uncertain, but everyone was nervous their first time right? First outings or.. _dates_ were always hard the first time around.

The hunter sighed to himself when he finally reached the others door, and for so many reasons Bobby just couldn't name in those moments, he forgot how to knock.

It wasn't as if he _forgot_ the functions of knocking. He knew he had to lift his arm, typically curl his fingers together into a ball shaped fist and rap his knuckles against the door. It was a simple function he kept imagining himself doing but struggled to gather up the courage to actually do it. He wasn't sure what he was so afraid of, or what he imagined would happen when he did it; it wasn't as if Crowley was going to not be there, or tell him to piss off. Bobby knew there wasn't a thing he needed to worry about-- everything was going to be fine. After an eternity of trying to force himself to lift him arm, he finally got himself to move; counting up to only two knocks before he heard a call on the other side which sounded similar to a _one moment_.

Bobby sucked in a deep breath, his back straightening in the process and shoulders dropping when he exhaled. Bobby could distinctly hear Crowley moving behind the door, some thudding that sounded like it could be steps, and something metallic jingling that reminded the hunter of keys when the knob was finally turned; it was a brief moment, but Bobby could have worn he stopped breathing altogether when the door finally pulled open.

Crowley stood there, hair everywhere like it always was when he came back from work, a little wet on the ends but nothing major. His face was tired, dark circles underlining his eyes and the creases between his brows were far more defined with the tension settled there highly evident. However, he was smiling, and even with the tension in his face Bobby could still clearly see the smile reach his eyes and he couldn't help but smile back, a small soft one in comparison settling on his lips when he saw him.

Bobby had sort of been expecting Crowley to lie and still be wrapped up in a suit, but to his honest surprise, that's not what the Scotsmen was wearing.

It was just a.. normal outfit.

Street clothes, just like he had asked and he doesn't really know why he hasn't seen Crowley wearing them before.

He was in normal jean's, which looked a bit too worn given the fact that Bobby's never seen him wear them before, with a navy blue hoodie and what the hunter assumed to be a faded green shirt underneath by the little peek of the collar that was visible under the hoodie. He wasn't even wearing dress shoes.

Crowley looked comfortable, warm; it was an incredibly satisfying sight to see and he wondered why Crowley didn't wear clothes like this more often. He looked more content in street clothes than he ever did in his suit. He always looked like he was prepared to give some sort of speech when he was in his suit, like he was alert and aware of his surroundings and held a rather snobbish air, confidence hanging on his sleeves when in the suit, but this? Crowley still looked the same, but something about him looked more relaxed and ready for a lazy afternoon rather than a conference.

Bobby must have been staring because he heard the other chuckle, absent eyes looking up to catch the Scotsmen's nearly fond gaze and he quickly averted his own bashfully, opening his mouth to say something when he felt something warm press against his cheek, not missing how the others nose brushed against his cheekbone when the other's face retreated, feeling his hand gripping his shoulder. Bobby blinked and looked down at him but Crowley's attention as already elsewhere, his hand wrapping around the knob of his door before slipping a hand inside the crack.

Bobby heard a soft click and the lights inside the room went off, the arm that was clutching his shoulder dropped when Crowley turned away to close and lock his door before sliding his keys into his hoodie's pocket.

"I've gotta say," Bobby broke into the silence, eyes traveling down the hall and back to the Scotsmen who was now looking up at him, "I didn't think you owned any street clothes."

Crowley snorted, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. "I like to call them my peasant rags." Bobby smiled at that, "I think it has a better ring to it, don't you say?"

"If you think so lowly of your own wardrobe, I can't imagine what you must think of mine." The hunter commented, his hand pressing momentarily against the small of the businessman's back, almost as if he was escorting him before dropping his hand back to his side. Crowley made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, his steps in time with the hunters.

"I'm not sure how Red Necks scale beauty, but I'd say that your clothes would look lovely on the cover of the next edition of _Hillbilly Weekly_."

"Okay, number one-" He started almost defensively, nose scrunched when it caused the other to hiccup in laughter, "There's no such thing, and two-" He raised his fingers in emphasis, "I'm not a damn hill billy, Imma hunter. There's a difference."

"I'm pretty sure it's the same thing." Crowley grinned, hand reaching out instinctively to the elevator button as they made their way down the hall, pressing it and waiting for it to approach. "Don't look so offended, pet. I'm sure hill billy's would be honoured to be compared to you."

"That's not the point." Bobby wasn't certain as to what the point actually was, but he was fairly sure there was one. "I think hill billy's are more church goo-roo's and strong bull headed Christians," glancing up at the elevator doors as they opened, stepping inside. "Not like that's a bad thing, but I see them more as the _cooking squirrel_ type."

"And you don't?" Crowley chuckled, pressing the main floor button once the doors finally slid shut. The elevator subtly shifted, "You know, go to church?"

Bobby half expected he meant _eat squirrel_ , which he didn't, by the way, not exactly his taste. However, he simply shook his head. "Nah," He breathed, "Never really cared much for religion."

"Well, I never honestly expected you to be a constant church goer," Crowley admitted, shrugging his shoulders, "seeing as you never left your house on the Sunday's I was there, but I always assumed you were Christian." His eyes weren't on the hunter when he said that, looking up at the dial as it lowered.

Bobby adjusted his cap, "What made you think that?" There was a soft _ding_ indicating that they've stopped, although they could have inferred that by just the feeling under their feet. The doors slid open, letting in the bright lights of the main floor flood in the tiny compartment they traveled in; Crowley was the first to step out, Bobby just a few feet behind him before falling right back into step, Crowley made a point to not say anything while they were in the main lobby until Bobby opened up the doors that lead outside.

Maybe Crowley didn't like the woman at the counter, but that's a story for another time he supposed.

"I don't know." Crowley said after a long moment, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie's pockets to keep his hands warm. Bobby led him over to where his truck was still running, "I suppose that it's the fact that most everyone in Sioux Fall's are deeply Catholic or Christian, and because I didn't see crosses laying every which way in your home, I just assumed the latter."

Bobby nodded to that, shrugging almost nonchalantly. Bobby knew he had a few bibles laying around, most of which were for different religions, or not in english, some were for absent reading purposes; others, like the original bibles he had lying around were his mothers-- never could get rid of anything that belonged to her. Crowley pushed himself into the passenger seat, stepping up and sliding in, hearing his door slam shut as he made his way to the drivers seat, getting in and slamming his own door beside him. They buckled up before Bobby finally shifted gears.

"Yeah well, we, uhm-" He coughed, "My parents and I, never really talked much about God at the dinner table. Never been a family of Church people, although my fathers favourite word was _Jesus Christ_." He chuckled, but there was no real mirth behind it.

Crowley considered his words, shifting in his seat until he seemed to find a comfortable position. "Well, do you believe in God?" He questioned, and not in the way that a door walker would saunter on up and ask ' _do you have time to learn about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?_ ' Bobby's gotten plenty of people from the local church head up to his home at least one every two weeks.

Bobby began driving, pressing his lips into a fine line. "I don't know." He said after consideration, "I really don't know what I believe in." And that wasn't a complete lie, because truly, he didn't. The church around here would be more likely to call you sinful then help you in a time of need, they were spiteful people who spoke of a paradise earth, but if there was one, Bobby didn't believe that they'd ever make it there. Cruel, racist, unforgiving, and a million other things that made him cringe; if that's the kind of God that's out there, if that's the kind of God that allows these people to do these terrible things and still promises them paradise, then that's not the kind of God that Bobby would give himself over too. He tried not to think too deeply on the concept; He knew that religious people truly weren't that bad; just because his town was "blessed" with a cult of bad eggs that actually believe they're doing God's work, that's not the religions fault but their own. "What about you?"

"Me?" Crowley hummed, leaning back comfortably in his seat, "Honestly? I'm not all that sure myself." He responded thoughtfully, "Ah, I think that there could be something out there, but a God? Perhaps, perhaps not. You hear so many stories in the new's about a miracle man, and you go into a large chapel every Sunday to hear stories of his good will, but truthfully, nobody really know's for sure."

"Did you ever go to church?"

"Me? Yes." Crowley nodded, "My mother would take me when I was younger to a lovely little Cathedral down by a small pond. Insisted I was apart of all of the activities, and participated and most of the events; it was hell, ironically, but when you force a child into something akin to labor to them and disregard their own hobbies, then you're just driving yourself to failure." The Scotsmen drawled, huffing up a weak laugh, "It's almost funny, actually, being surrounded by people who claim to care about you but call you a sin behind your back."

"They didn't know, at the time." He said slowly, tilting his head in Bobby's direction, watching his hands as he drove. Almost like he was mesmerized by them.

"Didn't know what?" Bobby asked, eyes watching the road, flickering over the street lights as he drove on by.

"That I was a _flaming homosexual_." The other breathed smirking slightly at the other who merely rolled his eyes at him. His tone a little distant and Bobby could only imagine how coming out for him had to be like. "They had their assumptions about me, some right and some wrong, but I never validated them the way they wanted me to, if at all." There was a soundless chuckle, "It infuriated them to no end."

"What do you mean?" The hunter flipped on his turning signal before making a slick left turn, clutching the wheel a bit tightly. Turning to look from the road to Crowley as much as he could without spraining his neck.

"They'd ask silly questions, or rather blunt insinuations they thought they were being so clever with wording." If Crowley wasn't so tired, the hunter imagined his words would have been more spat out. "They kept asking things along the lines of when I'd be settling down with a nice girl, get a second rate job and raise a couple kids." He sighed wearily, "I know how much my mother wanted grandchildren."

Bobby didn't say anything, waiting for the other to continue; it felt like an eternity had passed, although it could have easily been a few mere minutes, before he spoke up again, going over his thoughts.

"I always thought that perhaps the reason I went to Church more than my bleeding _pastor_ was because my mother just enjoyed being there so much. I know better now of course, having a God fearing mother who knew a bit too much and just wanted to _cure_ me so I'd have a lovely seat in heaven right by her side." Bobby turned to look at him, but Crowley's gaze was still on the wheel; his expression neutral, for the most part; looking almost bored, but Bobby didn't miss the slightly pained expression he was sporting. It could have been easily missed given the lack of light the car had inside, and was only illuminated when they drove past some street lamps.

"Never minded church all that much growing up until I realized why I was going so often."

"When'd you find out?"

"Find out what?"

"Y'know," Bobby shrugged, "That you were gay?"

Crowley snorted, shifting in his seat. "That's a very specific question, Robert." He chuckled, and Bobby could feel his cheek's heating up, hunching his shoulders defensively; he was grateful that the lighting outside was almost nonexistent and Crowley couldn't see the red in his cheeks.

"But because you asked _so_ nicely, and you got all dressed up for our little date, I _suppose_ I should tell you." The Scotsmen tossed playfully, smirking at the hunter who squirmed under his gaze. Crowley wanted to just reach over and place his hand on the others on shift, or lean over and pepper his tense face with kisses; he's thought about it before-- before Bobby knew how he felt. Kissing away the tension between his brows and smoothing out his hunched shoulders, but prevented himself from doing so; this was still too fresh, still too new and delicate and he still had to get Bobby used to this-- used to _him_ in particular.

"I uhm," Crowley paused, letting his eyes fall back to the wheel, tracing the movements silently to himself. "I've.." He hummed, leaning back in his seat before shrugging. "I suppose I've always known, actually." He glanced out his window as he thought it over, as if he could someone come up with a specific date. "Yeah, I think-- Just.. just something I was always conscious of, even if it was never really explained to me until I was finally older." He explained, "And how about you, darling? When'd you realize women weren't the only great thing in the world?"

"I'm not gay." Bobby muttered, receiving a sarcastic hum in response.

"Well you're _something_ , pet. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"Weren't we talking about religion?"

Crowley dragged out an _oh_ playfully, the humour heavily evident in his voice. "Oh, look who's getting all defensive?"

"I'm not getting defensive." Bobby retorted, "We're just getting off topic s'all."

Crowley eyed him a long moment before nodding, and Bobby knew that the conversation would be dropped, but the look on the other's face told him that he wasn't quite finished with it just yet. "Well, we've already covered base on my beliefs-"

"Barely-"

"So let's touch base a bit on yours." He looked at the hunter, "Do you believe in God?"

"Didn't I already answer this?"

"You did, but I feel like there was more to that answer than a simple _I don't know_." The Scotsmen mocked his tone of voice, smirking a little, however it was hard to see considering how dark it was outside and in the car.

Bobby rolled his eyes, rolling his shoulders as he stopped at a red light. "Nothing much to say about it." He spoke, catching his lower lip between his teeth. "Can't say I think too much about it." 

Crowley hummed, "It's got to be hard _not_ to, pet. Not with all the strong headed Christians in our area."

"The Christian's ain't _that_ bad here." Bobby replied, looking to the street signs.

"You seem to forget that Sioux Fall's is filled with extremists." The other muttered almost bitterly, the hunter inclining his head in his direction.

"Just because a groups got a few bad apples, doesn't make the whole patch rotten." The hunter smiled, "Yeah we've got a few bad one's in town, but we've also got some good ones, and I feel they level each other out."

"I supposed you've got a point," Crowley tugged at the sleeves of his shirt, "but I don't suppose it makes much a difference when you have them picketing outside your home."

"I've _never_ had them picket outside my house," Bobby shot back, tone a bit flat to his ears. "They've never had a reason too."

"I suppose they do now."

"Not if they don't know." 

"Well, sweetie." Crowley licked his lower lip, "Your secret's safe with me."

Bobby smiled faintly at that, but didn't feel the need to comment on it. The two of them sitting in relatively comfortable silence as he drove, minutes passing slowly as the car drove almost silently down the road. Car's gracefully making their turns and sliding on past, their engines silent compared to his, their coating black and sleek and new by all accounts. Bobby always found new cars to be funny, because one day in the far future, someone's going to look at all those new high tech style's and ultimately think "Golden oldies". Call the once sleek designs something barbaric, and retro and he just hoped he'd live to see the day.

The cities lights lit up the whole street and for several blocks on as far as the hunter could tell, looking at each building distantly as he drove. He could hear the other's steady breathing, and he had to say that he rather enjoyed the sound of something other than the silence that overcame his truck.

"Where exactly are we heading?" Crowley finally spoke up after a few dragging minutes, "You never did specify where we're going to eat."

Bobby turned to glance at the Scotsmen, "You'll see when we get there."

"It better not be some exotic foreign place," Crowley stretched, leaned back and pressing his hands on his face, rubbing downward as he tried to wipe away his sleepiness. "I think I've had enough exotic meals this past week to last me a lifetime." He muttered, yawned momentarily.

Bobby chuckled, "Don't worry about it," Another corner turned, and finally seemed to hit the road he'd been searching for, relaxing into his seat. "I'm sure you'll like it."

"And what if I don't?" Crowley mused, "What if I think it's utterly disgusting?"

"Depends, do you have another ride home?" The hunter grinned faintly, barely suppressing his laugh when he heard the other's snort.

" _Oh ho_ , I see how it is. You kidnap me and don't give me the choice of escape." He feigned horror and surprise, "Forcing me to eat filthy food, in some filthy restaurant, with filthy silverware-"

"With a dirty cook who doesn't wash his hand's." Crowley mocked a gagging sound, much to Bobby's amusement.

"Let me guess, he's got a hook for a second hand, yes?" Bobby could hear him shifting in his seat, "Missing most of his teeth with an eye patch-"

"On both eyes." Bobby cut in, the Scotsman barely containing his laughter. If Bobby had to pick a sound that he felt he could listen to forever, he wouldn't hesitate to pick the other's laugh. There was something so distinct about his laugh that it filled his chest with something warm; Bobby wasn't sure if it was the delicate purr at the beginning that straightened out into something almost ridiculous. His laugh sounded so unused that it had a very specific sound that the hunter couldn't exactly describe-- something about it sounded used up, yet another part sounded pure and it was incredibly pleasing to hear.

It made him think of fancy ball rooms with the large chandler up ahead, the walls made of mirrors and everyone dressed up in nice gowns and pressed suits; it made him think of expensive red wine and of fine glasses-- however, it also reminded him of someone dropping and breaking their glass, shards and wine spilling and scattering across the divine floor and that's what Crowley's laugh made him think of-- what he thought it sounded like to him.

It was a normal laugh, by any given standards; it wasn't as if he could actually hear the glass shattering, but he felt as though if he were to listen hard enough, he may very well be able to.

That, and Bobby's caught on a few times that if he's laughing too hard; when he breathes in he sometimes snorts and he can't help but find that little fact endearing to know. Even if he doesn't do it all that often. It was a flaw, but it was a flaw given to a man who by all accounts seem's flawless at first glance; at least that's what Bobby used to think. 

Crowley calmed down ever so much to be able to speak through broken chuckles, "I don't think I've ever been more excited to eat from a dirty blind man with a hook for a hand." He breathed out, his voice a tad hoarse from laughing so hard. They were quiet a good moment, the silence buzzing warmly between them as they finally calmed down long enough to catch their breath, when Crowley finally spoke up again.

"Do you think he'll like me?"

Bobby scoffed, shooting the other an obscenely amused face, the Scotsmen smiling all the same before brushing the look off.

"It's a serious question, Robert."

"Oh I'm sure," He smiled, "I think he'll like you just fine-- Hell, he might even try to run away with you."

"Really? Good. I rather dislike it here, because my driver's mean and doesn't appreciate me." He said it so seriously Bobby wasn't sure whether to actually laugh but he couldn't help himself. "Besides, I think dirty older men are my type."

"I'm not that old." Bobby retorted kindheartedly, receiving a soft pat to the arm. "43, isn't even old."

"Older than me, love." Crowley pressed, crossing his legs comfortably.

"By three years!" The hunter shot back.

"Yes, three _whole_ years. At this rate you'll be elderly."

"And you won't be?"

"Not for _three whole years._ "

The hunter scoffed, rolling his eyes kindly when he finally spotted the restaurant. When his eyes settled on it, something on his face must have shown because Crowley looked forward too, squinting forward until he spotted it as well, making a soft sound in the back of his throat however he didn't comment on it; at least not yet. Bobby pulled in, shutting his truck off with a quick flick of the wrist; pocketing his key when he heard Crowley stepping out of the truck. Bobby only a few second behind him, rounding it and meeting him in front of his vehicle.

"What is this place?" Crowley asked, wrapping his arms in a loose hug around himself, his hands clutching around his elbows.

"Conner's Diner," Bobby answered, leading the Scotsmen up to the front door's and holding the door open for him, hearing a soft _And they say chivalry is dead_ coming from the other man, smirking up at him teasingly as he stepped inside the warm establishment. Bobby rolled his eyes but ignored the comment, "Good food, actually. It was Dean's favourite place to eat growing up, and if I'm right, it still might be."

"Burger joint?" Crowley questioned, rubbing his hands up and down his sleeved arms, creating a weak friction from his hands. He looked around, taking in the quaint scenery; it was a simple little establishment, and they served the typical menu, however Bobby always thought the food here was a hell of a lot better than any high marketed food chain organization. The food here had quality, and Crowley might appreciate it after eating whatever the hell he had been for the past two weeks.

So far he didn't look disgusted nor disappointed with where they ended up, so that's a good start.

"Absolutely." He answered. Speaking briefly to the woman up front, she lead the two of them to a booth near the far corner against the window; the lights from the street shining in through into the evenly lit diner; looking outside as he took his seat, Bobby could distinctly see the snow lit up by faded orange street lights, shoveled up and pressed against the edge of the sidewalks. The hundreds of car's passing though, most of which he assumed were people just trying to get home after a late day in the office, or attempting to have a night on the town; if was first Friday, after all.

The waiter pat their table, letting them know he'd be back in a moment to take their order for drinks before heading off. Conner's Diner was a bit busy this afternoon, but nothing too bad, seeing as he could still spot some empty seats ready for people coming in.

"This is quaint," He heard Crowley say, glancing at his menu, "It's been years since I've sat down in a Diner."

"Really?" That was hard to believe. Crowley looked like the type who actually got to eat out often; he seemed the type to _try_ to eat out a lot, actually. It wasn't like Diners were uncommon in Sioux Fall's, that was for certain-- but again, Crowley had beaten his stereotype into the ground more times than a medic's been able to look at it.

"Well, Conner's is a great starter up for Diners," The hunter opened his own menu, more for show than anything else because he already knew what he was getting; "The food's decent here, and it'll help you settle back in bein' in America."

"Hm, I hope so. I've been feeling all sort's of strange ever since I got back from the plane." Crowley looked over the menu, seeming to read over every one of them carefully; it was something Bobby figured was more habit than anything else-- anyone whose gone to diner after diner just scan's some of the content they want. Bobby figured that it was the fact that Crowley when to more high class restaurants than this. Places that sold exotic food from all over the world, and it was probably just his way of assuring himself that he wasn't going to eat snail. Bobby was sure that'd he read the fine print too if he ever went to a place like that.

"What do you mean?" Bobby set his menu down, already had in mind his order as he leaned back in his seat. Crowley didn't even glance up at him as he continued to read.

"Not sure, just--" He pressed his lips together, resting part of his menu on the table top. "Jet lag, perhaps. Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, I'm positive it's nothing. I never did like heights much, so that might have something to do with it."

Bobby grimaced, "I hate heights."

Crowley scrunched his nose, eyes raising and settling on the hunters face as he nodded. "It's awful, isn't it?"

"I can't get 10 feet off the ground without panicking." Bobby elaborated, tone dripping in distaste.

"Oh I know, I always get weak in the knee's when I look over a ledge." He shuddered, "I can't take window seats in planes. Which isn't fun." The Scotsmen frowned, "I'm either terrified to death staring a million miles off ground, or bored to death staring at the seat in front of me." Bobby, himself, had never been in a plane, so he didn't know what that was like. Sounded awful to be honest; however, regardless of his fear, he had to admit he always wondered what it would be like to fly over a city at night, with all it's lights and glory shining his way.

He may be terrified of getting too high, but he imagined that seeing something so bright and beautiful would be worth it in the end. However, Bobby had no real reason to ever get on a plane-- He could drive anywhere, and going to another part of the world was too damn expensive and unnecessary; traveling can be nice, but he didn't see much point in it other than eating strange foods and seeing new sights. There were some places he'd always wanted to visit, and re-visit of course, he had a few friends he left back in Japan, but it was all just silly dreaming on his end.

Crowley looked as if he was ready to continue that thought when their waiter finally returned, taking their order for their drinks before heading off again; Bobby got a coke like he always did, and ended up having to help Crowley find where they placed in on the menu. Not like he minded of course, he actually found it incredibly fascinating to see someone who was so used to his drinks being verbally offered he nearly forgot that he actually had to check for what he wanted-- Unsure, he ended up getting a coke as well.

Crowley had made a snide comment after the waiter had taken off, about hearing some story about someone putting bolts in coke and after a while pulled them out to find them completely clean. _Imagine what they do to your insides-_

He was still going to drink it, but he mentioned it as they watched their waiter rush about. Chatting idly when he came back with their drinks, setting them in front of the men before gracefully sliding out a small black covered note pad, pulling a pen from the front pocket of his apron before taking their orders; Bobby got his usual Burger and Fries, with the waiter waiting patiently as Crowley asked a few questions about the food. The waiter nodded and smiled, telling him about the foods he most recommended and what tasted better-- Bobby was lucky they got one of the more patient servers at their table; Donovan, he believed his name was, seeming to understand that Crowley was unfamiliar with their menu's.

They could have gotten someone a lot worse.

Crowley ended up getting a burger as well, fries and the like; nearly the same meal as Bobby, but Crowley had bacon on his; Bobby could almost say that Crowley even looked remotely apologetic to the waiter for taking up his time, but something told him it was more embarrassment from his end for not knowing what he wanted, and seeing as what he got was incredibly simple.

Crowley watched him go, hands under the table and resting them on, Bobby assumed, his lap; tired wide eyes looking back from the waiter to Bobby. He was a bit more open, wearing his emotions a bit more easily on his sleeve, and tonight the snark in his tone seemed to be missing for the most part; excluding his teasing comments. Bobby took a wild guess and figured it had something to do with how tired he had to be-- from the sound of it, it seemed as if he didn't get much more than 10 hours altogether of actual rest when he was in Rome for those two weeks. Bobby should have let him go home and sleep for 14 hours straight. But he also knew that Crowley had to be starving, and regardless how tired someone was, it was always hard to sleep on an empty stomach.

Of course Crowley could have made his own food; it was just courtesy to take him out once he got back; maybe something more, but Bobby didn't dwell too deeply on it.

So, they talked. They talked for a while nonstop about absolutely everything, but nothing all at once. No serious talk, and nothing personal, just jokes they've heard and simple fleeting stories that came to mind because of something that just so happened to remind them of it. It was all light and soft conversation, joking and friendly and Bobby was watching as Crowley seemed to finally relax into his seat; he hadn't noticed how stiff he was before.

The Scotsmen laughed more freely, and he soon realized that Crowley was the type to talk with his hands.

Bobby's noticed before, that was for sure, but he never really knew how much he did it until he got the other caught up in a story. They've never got too deep in conversation often, and when they did it was usually Bobby's fault. He's seen Crowley get enthusiastic about things when he was wide awake, but it was something else _entirely_ when the other was fighting sleep. His speech slurred ever so slightly, and he was just a tad more expressive; He was telling this semi-hilarious story about one of his co-workers Metatron, hands pausing in mid-air when their server came back to their table, toting two plates in each hand and setting them out in front of them.

The server Donovan dismissed himself and starting running around once again, and Bobby wondered why first Friday's always brought out people to the streets. They were lucky, however, that they got here when they did-- there seemed to be a quite a line now.

Bobby turned his attention back to Crowley who was staring at his food as if he honestly didn't know what to do with it. It took Bobby a few fluttering seconds to realize that he was assessing his food but it didn't take long for him to adjust the top bun and pick it up, a bit awkwardly for that matter that it sparked up a rather mild curiosity in the hunter. Laughing through his nose, he picked up his own Burger, pausing mid-way up when he noticed Crowley still wasn't eating.

"Something wrong?" He asked, eyeing the other's burger a moment before catching his gaze.

"Oh, no. Nothing." Crowley shook his head, as if he was trying to reassure him. "Just uhm..- eating."

Bobby shot him a look, shifting in his seat, "I probably should have asked where you wanted to go than just assuming-"

"No! No, no, no. That's not it." He shook his head, his arms tense slightly as if he wanted to make a gesture, but the burger between his fingers prevented him from really moving. "I'm just-- setting my bearings is all."

"Setting your bearings?" Bobby blinked, "Crowley, you act as if you've never eaten a cheeseburger before."

Crowley went quiet and Bobby's eyes went wide.

"You're joking right?" A grin tugging at the side of his lips as he looked the other over; Crowley was still quiet, as if he wasn't sure how to answer or what answer he could give that would make the transition to eating easier.

"Never had the time to." Crowley stated, making a point in avoiding meeting the others amused gaze.

"There's no way you've lived in America as long as you have and never, _not once_ , eaten a cheeseburger." Bobby raised his brows disbelievingly when Crowley still refused to give a straight answer. Bobby set down his own meal, placing both of his elbows on the table and folding his hands together. Watching the Scotsmen expectantly, which effectively threw the other off guard.

"What?" He asked, scrunching up his nose, "Something on my face?"

"If this is your first cheeseburger, I ain't gonna miss it." He elaborated, making a point to keep his own hands off his own food and waiting patiently for the other to go on. Crowley chewed his lip, looking back at the greasy thing between his fingers, chuckling weakly as he attempted to break eye contact with the hunter; nearly taking a bite before he shifted into a fit of giggles.

"I can't eat with you staring at me." He glanced away, almost as if a subconscious gesture to hide his face, "I feel like I'm going to fuck it up."

"You can't fuck up eating a cheeseburger, now c'mon. I'll hide behind my menu if I have too."

"Awe, for me?" Crowley teased, waving off the comment. "No, no it's alright." He waved as best as he could, considering he was still holding his food. "Just the pressure's are higher now."

"Don't worry about it, there's no wrong way to eat them."

"Oh really? Then lend me your fork and knife."

Bobby laughed, "Well, there's that." Shaking his head, he urged the other on; Crowley continued to hesitate, and eventually Bobby was able to convince him to take a bite at the same time he did. It took a moment, but after a few reassuring comments that he promised he wouldn't make him do it by himself, he agreed. Counting to three, Bobby lifted his sandwich and made sure Crowley was doing the same; the countdown was leveled with and simultaneously, they took a bite. Bobby already knew what he was expecting when he sunk his teeth through the roasted bun into the seasoned patty, so used to the texture and taste he didn't think much about it, however Crowley's reaction ranged from frozen to surprise to adoration in a matter of seconds.

The Scotsmen seemed to realize how hungry he truly was, with a jagged moan he ended up finishing the burger without so much as a comment until it was gone; Bobby having barely made it half-way through his own-- but then again, he wasn't as starving. When Bobby had already finished his burger, Crowley was finishing up his fries and the hunter pushed his plate forward to him; Crowley looked at him a moment confused before it clicked.

"No, Robert-" Crowley shot him a guilty, if a bit embarrassed look. "You don't have to--"

"Go ahead," He waved, "I can get these whenever, and unlike you, I'm not all that hungry. Eat up."

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't." Crowley took it for what it was and snatched the others untouched french fries, placing them on his plate before Bobby pushed it completely to the side. The Scotsmen took two fries at a time, chewing and glancing around as if he was mapping the place out, trying to embed every detail to memory. It was the disinterestedness of the action that reminded Bobby that he needed to get him home soon so he could sleep. "So," The hunter began, "What'd you think?"

The Scotsmen shot him a lopsided smile, "Wonderful," He brushed, "I've no idea why I've never been here before." He responded simply, glancing back at the hunter, "I didn't think greasy chopped up cow with cheap cheese could taste so good."

"Not when you word it like that." Crowley snickered faintly, nodding in response, however any response he might have had died on his lips when a yawn attacked them instead.

Yeah, it was about time he took him home.

Bobby got the waiters attention to get the check. He saw as Crowley reached for his pocket; presumably to grab his wallet, when Bobby waved it off.

"Don't worry about it, I'm paying." He told the other, who merely shook his head.

"You don't have to do that-"

"Crowley, I invited you out for dinner." He stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I don't expect you to pay for your meal, okay? Not tonight." Bobby was reaching for his own wallet, tugging it out of his rear pocket before checking his money; he had more than enough on his person.

Crowley looked as if he was about to protest again but Bobby hushed him, "It's a treat, Crowley." He insisted, smiling, "Just accept it, because I'm not givin' you a choice." Crowley rolled his eyes, smirking weakly all the same but pulled his hand from his pocket, folding them in front of him as he watched the hunter get out the change. He was waiting for some kind of offhanded comment about ' _Paying for my meals? Oh, Robert you truly do spoil me._ ' but it never came. Paying, he left a tip before pushing from his seat, Crowley shuffling close behind and Bobby didn't miss the stifled yawn he was trying to keep down.

When they finally got outside, the cold air perked the Scotsmen up a bit, but didn't drown out the tiredness he was currently suffering from, lumbering into his seat; nearly crawling onto it, he was so tired. Bobby made it in after him, making sure he hadn't forgotten to buckle up before turning on his truck and maneuvering it out of parking. Bobby groaned softly to himself in irritation when it seemed to take years for him to get out of the lot; the roads were blocked by some bad traffic, but he was able to finally squeeze his truck free from a bad portion of it and began his rather strenuous journey back to the exhausted mans home.

The ride back was relatively silent for the most part, ignoring the honking and beeps surround his truck and tuning out the collective drag of tires that made the earth sound tuneless to his ears. Inside the car was wafting silence, but nothing even remotely uncomfortable in his opinion; quaint and steady, yes-- simple as that. He could hear his heater running miles per hour and trying to drown out the subtle coldness lingering inside his truck on every corner. Trying to make it bearable at least.

Bobby shifted in his seat when he was caught behind two other cars at a red light, pushing down his sleeves as they slid down his wrists, glancing over at the other; half expecting him to be staring out the window blankly, only to be greeted by a near silent huff of air that sounded similar to a snore.

Eyes shut and shoulders relaxed, his cheek pressed against the door where he apparently drifted off. Bobby smiled faintly, feeling a yawn touch his own lips before he could stop himself. His hands were folded onto his lap, lips slightly parted; Bobby could only just barely see the others face, but something about it seemed troubled. Bobby could only wonder what it was that ailed him, nearly losing the thought when the cars in front began moving and he placed his foot back on the pedal. The rest of the ride there was played out in hushed and blissfully thankful silence, warming up the edges of the vehicle that the heater could not.

When they returned, he reached over to the other's seat, nudging his arm to wake him, which the other does through a single rasped breath and the joining of his hands to rub at his eyes.

"We're here." He muttered gently, receiving a nod from the other. Crowley glanced over at his building, and Bobby could see him setting his jaw; although not in the way that meant he was angry or upset, but more on the matter that he looked as if he was thinking. The hunter watched at Crowley brushed his hand through his hair, and how the strands pushed back would immediately fall back into place, Bobby watched in mesmerization before the other spoke up again.

"You should come up." He rasped, sleep evident in his voice. Bobby quirked a brow, eyes following the movements of Crowley's hands as they rubbed over his cheek, trying to rub away some of the sleepiness ebbed into him, but it didn't do much.

"I don't want to bother you." Bobby began, turning in his seat sideways to face the other as fully as he could given his position. Crowley rubbed his eyes and it only further pushed the hunters point. "You're tired as all hell, and me being there won't help." Something about obligations to guests that Bobby sure as hell didn't want to impose on the Scotsmen. Not when he needed to be in bed by yesterday.

However, Crowley just shook his head. "You won't bother me," He mumbled, "I like your company." Bobby was about to say something but Crowley effectively cut him off with a vague hand gesture. "C'mon-- I have three days after today all to myself, and it's a weekend. I'd love for you to stay over, and we can catch up on all we missed while I was away in the morning. Just-" There seemed to be a silent _please_ in there somewhere, but being left unable to say it. Bobby understood the hesitance on some level, this was still all so new, to both of them. Bobby wasn't much for _sleepovers_ , and to be honest he was a bit uncertain as to how it'd play out, and he just wasn't ready for some big step just yet in their relationship.

But Crowley seemed to just want his company, and he was too tired to try anything if he honestly had any intention to. So, against better judgement, he sighed, but nodded none the less. Crowley's shoulders relaxed, tugging on the others sleeve to let him know he was getting out of the truck and for him to follow. Bobby, a bit hesitantly of course, twisted his keys and the engine shut off with a dying cough. He felt his hand reach and wrap around his car door handle before it even registered, and he was jumping out of his seat right after the Scotsmen almost completely absently; barely aware until they were heading up to the apartment entryway and he was already holding the door to allow the other inside.

The woman at the front register was smiling tightly at them as they entered, but never said a word as they made their way to the elevator. Bobby shifted uncomfortably under her gaze as if she knew something, and that she could read it on their skin, but she never jumped up and accused them with a righteous finger, and when they were far enough away Bobby could hear that insistent tapping of her keyboard once again.

Calling the elevator, Crowley was the first to step inside, Bobby right on his heels as the Scotsmen pressed the button for his floor. The moment the door slid shut and the lift began to move, he felt a heavy weight on his shoulder and something soft and warm interlacing his fingers; When he looked over, he felt the others hairs brush against his cheek, mussed up and sticking out. Crowley was leaning against him, looking forward at the door but never saying a word, although it looked as if a thousand things were running through his mind.

Bobby felt the others hand against his, wrapped around his just loose enough for Bobby to just slip his own hand out if he wanted to; but he didn't.

He didn't tighten the grip, holding just as loosely to the other's hand as if it were a foreign object that needed to be handled with care. But he didn't let go, feeling some sense of fear of what would happen if he did.

The doors opened suddenly and there was a sudden strike of panic that someone could have been standing behind those doors. Crowley must have felt him tense against him, because he felt the others grip tighten; more in a way of reassurance, rather than a threat to prevent him from letting go even if there was someone to see. Bobby relaxed a bit when he saw the hallway empty in front of them, the lights were dimmed due to the time and Bobby wanted to shout at himself for being so foolish-- it was nearly 1:00 in the morning, there weren't many people out to begin with other than downtown; and what were the chances that someone would be heading to leave at this ungodly hour?

Crowley lifted his head from his shoulder, leaving the lift but never letting go of the hunters hand as he lead him to his room. Bobby already knew where it was, and it wasn't like he needed guidance, but Crowley provided it none the less. As if it was his way of making sure he was still behind him and not running off or getting lost.

Sliding his keys from his pocket one-handedly, he pulled the other into his dark apartment. Bobby turned to close the door behind him, but when he moved to face forward he felt the others hand slip from his own before blinking when suddenly a pair of warm lips covered his own.

It was a chaste kiss on all accounts, but Bobby couldn't help but feel the tension in him melt away at the contact. Jesus, he really did miss him.

"Thank you," Crowley mumbled against his lips, not exactly kissing, but not exactly drawn away either. Noses brushing just barely, sharing a breath and for an abundance of reasons that he couldn't think of, Bobby couldn't pull away.

"For what?" He grumbled lightly, another kiss pressed against him, catching the side of his mouth.

"Dinner," Crowley began, hands sliding and resting on the others shoulders, "For picking up your phone, for taking me out and treating me," He hummed, his tone dripping and thick like honey and cream, "For giving me a chance."

Bobby watched him, not sure if he should smile or just how to respond, so instead he just hummed as a sufficient response because that made sense, right? He wanted to say something like " _No problem-_ " but that wouldn't work. It insinuates that it had the potential to be a problem, and although it was a natural thing to say, Bobby found himself preventing from actually saying it. It just didn't _sound_ right for what was going on, whatever was, in fact, going on.

It wasn't like it was when he was in high school; there was no real validation with what was going on between two people when you're adults. And when you're two men with the personality's and headset they had? It's not as if they can just outright say they're _dating_ or in a relationship or whatever it was. It never felt right to try and label things, trying and put them under categories they just barely fit under to begin with. It wasn't like it was when they were kids and could out right say " _Would you like to go out with me?_ ". Or call them your _boyfriend_ or _girlfriend_ or anything in between-- It wasn't that simple anymore.

Back then everyone had that vague idea that either they were going to break up with that person or end up spending the rest of their life with them; but because they were in high school, they all had the same basic goal even if they were unaware of it. They knew, on some level at least, that they may not actually spend the rest of their life with this person, and slowly, eventually for most, grow bored and move on. It wasn't the same with a majority of adults-- you couldn't just walk up to someone, talk briefly and shoot them an offer of a relationship. There was building and trust, something adults advance to levels that students are beginning to finally build on. Trust is something everyone typically requires in relationships, but depending on experience depends on the level of trust one has to have before jumping into something.

For some, it's just a quick conversation, for others it's years of talking and building and wrapping their lives together, and most people fall in between those lines.

Bobby just barely fit between them, only just barely. It took a long time for someone to crack his exterior, and only a select few had actually burrowed underneath and played with the strings. Karen was one of those people, delicate and careful, strategically pulling him from a shell he was too frightened to crawl out of-- fear of his father, fear of physical abuse and being ignored-- dejected; and then there was Crowley, who was doing the exact same things-- however this time, the fear was for a different reason.

Bobby didn't trust easy, he didn't open up and he sure as hell didn't fall in love-- and that's not what he's saying is going on. But something shifting and twirling along those lines that he couldn't quite identify just yet but he knew whatever it was, it made him feel warm. It filled up the little holes inside of him that were left gaping and sore after he lost his wife and everything became harder. Where long nights in hospital rooms, holding his weak wife's hands as doctors and nurses never said a word to him because a single look at his face told them that visiting hours didn't apply to him.

That puffy eyes, and hushed conversations tore into him and left wounds that he knew would never heal were suddenly being mended after years of them aching; festering like a sore. When he was around Crowley, some of the ache was taken away, and he just wasn't willing to deny it anymore.

A lingering kiss was pressed against his lips, and he liked the way it made him feel as if he could suddenly breathe after over 20 years of a heavy chest and posture. Warm and quiet, still against one another but fluid and relaxed, even when Crowley finally pulled away. Bobby figured that he was probably going to end up sleeping on the couch, which he didn't really mind all that much, considering that Crowley's couch is a hell of a lot more plush and softer to sleep on than the one at home. However that's not what happened.

When Crowley pulled away, he didn't say much, simply wrapping his fingers around the others wrists and pulling him along, tugging him gently as he lead him to his bedroom. Bobby nearly stopped outside the door, hesitant, and rightly so, to step inside; however, curiosity got the best of him, and he allowed himself to be pulled along. He's never been in Crowley's bedroom, much like Crowley's never been in his. It was some sort of silent understanding that going into one another's room meant a whole other level that they'd need to be on. And taking them into their own made them face something they weren't quite ready to admit.

That was back when they were simply drinking buddy's, casual friends who were glued at the hip. Bedroom's were personal, surrounded by the things that made them feel safe enough to sleep; even if it was just a room, the velocity of it's meaning would have brought up questions they weren't quite ready to answer.

At least then, they didn't. But now?

His bedroom door was cracked open, the Scotsmen pressing against it gently and it silently pushed open, slipping gracefully open. Crowley let go of his wrist once they were inside, turning a moment to flick on the light before sauntering further inside.

Bobby blinked a moment, taking in his surroundings that were now illuminated by light. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure what he was expecting to see.

It was just a plain, simple room. A bed pressed against the center of the far wall, a night stand on one side with a lamp. There was a closet off to the right and a dresser by the door, and a single window on the left; the curtains drawn and closed and preventing the street lights from outside from getting in. The walls were a simple off-white colour, and the bed covers were silver, black, and white; made and crisp, and decently sized for at least two people. The room was spacious and had plenty of walking room, if only just a few meters or so of it.

The only real distinct thing about this room, once again, was the severe lack of personal items littering any of the walls. It gave off a rather luke-warm feeling about it, but it wasn't necessarily unpleasant. It just brought up the question as to _why_ he never had anything personal just laying around. Of all the times he's been to Crowley's home, he never once saw a picture, or a card. All his mail looked like bills and junk mail; the only thing he's ever seen that was even remotely personal with his clothes, and even then it was all suits, other than the outfit he was wearing now, and his laptop, which wasn't personalized all that much. No stickers, a default background, if Bobby knew didn't know any better he might have assumed it was some sort of act; as if Crowley was purposely avoiding having such sentimental things in his home.

Bobby doesn't really think that's the case, but if it was, then why?

It felt as if all of it was on purpose, like he was hiding something he wasn't proud of, so he hid everything that made him smile or warm or homely because he was afraid of wondering eyes. Afraid of accusation and judgement, but Bobby didn't know that for a fact; Crowley very well could be a distant person in general, and just didn't find sentimental value in things, but then again the clothes he was wearing could have easily been the clothes he came to America in. All faded and clearly worn from use-- and not necessarily recent use.

Crowley sauntered to his dresser, sliding open the middle drawer and pulling out two pairs of something, closing it and tossing one of them to the hunter who just barely caught it. He looked it over, letting them slip unfold only to realize they were pajama pants, glancing up at the other who was pulling off his navy blue hoodie, dropping it on the edge of his bed. Glancing up at the hunter when his thumbs hooked at the band of his jeans.

Bobby realized he was staring, dropping his head bashfully when he was caught. He could hear the other laughing though his nose, the sound light and soft and Bobby was able to gather himself well enough to peer at the other from under the brim of his hat. He noticed that the Scotsmen stopped trying to rid himself of his jeans, pulling something from the pockets that Bobby wasn't paying much attention into finding out what it was.

"The washroom's down the hall," He commented, gesturing towards the door with his eyes and the smallest shift of his head. "If you feel more comfortable dressing without my prying eyes, darling." There was that taunting lit in his tone, and Bobby rolled his eyes, taking his leave as he tried to figure out which one was the bathroom. After two missed attempts and finding the other's home office and hallway closet, he finally stumbled on the washroom, pulling open the knob and slipping inside.

It was decently sized, and clean; expensive was another word for it that Bobby was a bit too tired to dwell on. He payed it little mind as he slipped out of his coat, dropping it to the floor, kicking off his shoes and undoing his jeans, letting them slip off his hips and leaving him nearly bare besides his boxers still covering him up. It was a little chilly, and he felt goosebumps rush up his legs and run along his back, forcing a small shiver from him before snagging the pajama pants and pulling them on. They fit, well enough anyways. He knew he was a few pant sizes bigger than the Scotsmen, and that his hips were a little bit wider, but the pajama pants weren't too tight on him or hugged any part of his unnecessarily, which he was particularly thankful for.

Gathering up his clothes, he flicked off the light with his elbow and made his way back to Crowley's bedroom, finding the Scotsmen sitting cross legged on his bed in a pair of blue pajama's, sporting a faded army green T-shirt with a logo on it that he didn't recognize. Typing something on his phone with a yawn on his lips, looking up when Bobby walked back into the room before he set his phone on his nightstand. Crowley pat the place next to him, gesturing for Bobby to join him which the hunter did so a tad reluctantly.

The bed was soft under his hand as he pushed himself onto it, the sheet's feeling silky and plush; the texture just as expensive as it looked. Cool under his fingertips as he reached for the head of the covers, feeling his heart in his throat as he settled under the thick comforter's, the coldness he'd been suffering throughout the day left his body numb and buzzing, and it felt inconceivably satisfying to be so warm. As he settled down into the comforters, body pressed against the sheet's, he could feel the whole day finally settled down on him and break.

Driving all day, up since the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning; His back was stiff and his legs didn't feel like his own from severe lack of actual use throughout most of the day, doing only one activity repetitively over and over for hours. Tired and weary, most if not all of his uneasiness wore away and dissipated into a gnawing feeling in the back of his head, drifting in and out of consciousness once the Scotsmen finally shut off the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this noise, getting some real crobby into here, that's exciting. (I had so much fun with this chapter; like, I'm so in love with their dialogue and their interactions and stuff.) //And yeah, I realize that Bobby left Rumsfeld at home for a few days and left again without feeding him-- I like to think he called up Meg or something and asked her to come over and make sure he had food when she got the time. I can't imagine him neglecting his dog. [I realized I didn't really explain what he did when it came to Rumsfeld. I might touch base with it later, I might not, and if I don't then there you go.]]
> 
> Now: I've got a /lot/ of people on my tumblr asking about Ben and Dean with what's going on with their situation; and I felt like next chapter was a good chance to get into what's going on with them, and where Cas is straying in the situation. We'll have another one of just Cas and Dean [And finally start hitting off on official destiel hence-forth from there.] I haven't been paying Sabriel much attention, and that's on purpose-- you'll see why.
> 
> And for those of you who are pretty much fuckin' ready for some /actual/ crobby sequences, these next few chapters and so on [Not including the next one in general] should make up for 17 chapters of acting pusillanimous around each other, so FINALLY getting to the good bits is really exciting as we go through the chapters. Thank you for reading.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my way of finally hitting the core (sorta) with the Lisa situation-- I wouldn't recommend skipping this chapter (Even if you hate destiel, bare with me here. /or at least skim) I've been getting ask's (etc) along the lines of Dean and Ben, Brady, Lisa, and Cas so I'm going to finally touch base with that, and soon we'll be finally hitting off on actual destiel (Already kinda am) from henceforth from there. And crobby to come soon, and /finally/ (soon) get to the juicy bits that gives my story the "M" rating; taking me long enough-- another thing, this chapter is taking place during the week that Crowley was in Rome, and at the end of this chapter, it's around the time where Crowley's finally getting back and heading on his date with Bobby. Just an FYI. (ALSO, again, /self-beta'd/. If you spot anything, please feel free to let me know so I can fix it up.-- I will be lightly editing the next few days for mistakes I may have missed.))
> 
> And I /really/ don't mean to take 3 or so years between each chapter, but I am a busy noodle. (I promise, promise PROMISE, the next Crobby chapter will be up a hellova lot sooner.)
> 
> Enjoy.

"..-Five," came the tired sigh, "-the role which each parent has played and will play in the future, in the upbringing and care of the child.." Dean skimmed, chewing the cap of his pen, "Six, the propensity of each parent to actively support the child's contact and relationship with the other parent, including whether a parent has unreasonably denied the other parent access to or-" rolling his eyes, he groaned. "Blah blah blah, yada yada-- _goddamn_ it." Dean tossed the pages in frustration to the counter top, throwing his pen into the sink when he flung his arms in grief. "Where the hell is it?"

"You have to keep reading," Cas insisted, slipping past the mechanic to snatch the pen from the empty sink, sliding it back over to him with his own tucked behind his ear. "If it's not in there, then we'll just call an attorney."

"I'm not sure it _will_ be, Cas'." the mechanic sighed, pressing his tailbone against the edge of the counter. "I'm not even his real dad."

"You're a father to _him_ , blood or not, you two are still _family_." Castiel persisted, brushing his fingers over the side of the documents before picking them up and stacking them neatly together. "You helped raise him, you should have _some_ rights to seeing him." It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more than anything, his bright blue eyes switched between the mechanic and the papers, his shoulders slumping the more he considered it.

Dean huffed, his feet dragging over to the kitchen table and slumping into his seat helplessly. His elbows hit the table top before he dropped his weary face into his hands.

It was official, at this point, that Dean and Lisa were getting a divorce. Dean should have been glad to be done away with that cheating bitch, but he couldn't bring it in himself to be all that mad at her; it was his fault that this even happened in the first place. He should have tried harder with her, he should have told her how much he loved her, he should have done all these things. Dean thinks about all those missed opportunities to go shopping with her, even when she didn't ask, or all those time's he should have wrapped his arms around her when she was sleeping, just to let her know that he was right there, and he would always be.

Dean hated himself for it. Hated how everything good he touched seemed to spoil, and how every sweet thing died off and wilted eventually. He beat himself up over it again and again, about all their silly little arguments and fights they had that he could have prevented-- to just swallowed his pride and let her win, because the fights were over nothing and not as important as she was to him. But no, he was bull headed and couldn't stop himself when things got sour and the yelling grew worse and when things between them began to piece away. And now? He was going to lose Ben too, and he didn't believe that this whole nightmare scenario could possibly get any worse.

Ben deserves a better dad than fuckin' stick-up-his-ass _Brady_ , but Dean also knows that Ben deserves someone better than himself as well. Dean wasn't the best dad, or the best role model for that matter, but he tried, and he gave this family his all. However, giving something your all doesn't mean that it's nearly good or enough-- leaving it to be just one more thing in his life that he failed at doing.

Ben was a good kid, and at this point in life, Dean doubted that Brady could poison him with his backwards morals. Regardless, Dean worried, hoping that Ben will be okay without him.

Dean felt his chest ache at the thought of losing that kid, but he knew that if he couldn't find something that would give him at least _some_ visiting rights, then he'd lose him for good. If Ben ever wanted to see him again, after all this is through and he's all grown up, Dean hoped that he'd come out and find him-- yet Dean knew that if he just doesn't care in the end or forgets about him, he knew he wouldn't be able to blame him.

After all, the only thing he ever did was bring that kid down; he really wasn't that great of a father.

Dean had to keep telling himself this over and over again, to at least cushion the blow if or when he's told that he's never allowed to see him again. The thought of losing Ben made Dean's eyes sting, but he blinked it away. He needed to stay concentrated, he needed to think straight, and he needed to keep looking though those papers. If only for Ben's sake.

Castiel shuffled his way beside him, taking a swift seat across from him with the pages still in hand. Spreading them out in front of them like cards, he pushed a few of them closer to Dean to finish filling out as he himself searched through the papers Dean assumed were on Child Custody.

Now, Dean knows that he's fucked up a great deal in his life-- what he was doing now was a pretty good example of one, but, for what it's worth, Cas was probably the one thing in his life that Dean couldn't find it in him to regret.

However, although it may not mean much, Dean does, in fact, regret how he treated him when they first met. He was a complete asshole to him, and most likely made him feel profoundly unwelcome at the shop, but it was just an immediate reflex towards strangers. After all that had happened to Sam with that Ruby chick? Dean's been on red alert his entire life trying to prevent anything else bad from happening to both himself and his family-- look how well that worked out. Regardless, he'd been unwelcoming and rude, and the more he thought about it, the worse he felt.

But even after he'd been such a jerk, Cas' still offered him a place to stay, a _home_ , along with support and a million other things that Dean just couldn't put into words that he was just _so_ grateful for. He's done so much that he didn't have to, and Dean gained a best friend out of it and he just never knew how to thank him-- could never find the right thing to say. Dean's never been good at expressing his feelings, even when it came to Sammy and Bobby-- and they were family.

Yet, Cas' was incredibly bright and warm and made Dean feel right at home, it was just easier to get things off his chest when around him, maybe not every little thing that came to mind, but sometimes it didn't have to be everything. Even now, Cas was helping him push through a hard time. He wasn't letting him slack off with the divorce papers, he consoled him when things got particularly rough, and he always knew just what he was supposed to say and to be honest, Dean really doesn't know where he'd be without his help.

He didn't have to be here, he didn't have to help him along when he was in need, but he did, and Dean just didn't know how to express how much he appreciated it.

Dean picked up his pen, eyes scanning over the content and filling out a few more things about his and Lisa's marriage. He sighed to himself, chewing the inside of his cheek as he continued to read, each word blurring up and mashing together as his vision began to fail him. He felt the stinging in his eyes once again and the lump in his throat, _Jesus fuck_ he hated this.

He was throwing eight goddamn years of his life away on a piece of paper, and it just made him wonder just when things began to really fall apart for him.

Dean didn't even realize how badly his eyes had been watering until he felt something wet roll down his cheek. By instinct he quickly rubbed it away with the back of his hand, hoping to whoever the hell was listening that Cas didn't see it, but he already knew that wasn't the case when the medical student pushed from his seat and walked over to the stove. Dean didn't even have to look at him to know what he was doing when he heard something metallic hit the stove top and the facet being turned on. He did it all the time now, ever since he first got the papers in the mail and the call from Lisa about what was going to happen.

Cas' never really talked about why he did it, but Dean always assumed that it was just a medical thing for someone who's genuinely stressed. Dean always accepted the gesture because honestly, Castiel was going to be a doctor one day and he should know these things, and Dean really appreciated the effort, even if he wasn't much of a tea drinker himself. He thought the stuff was a bit bitter personally, and eventually Cas seemed to catch on so he started putting in creamer or honey and sugar; Dean was never specific so it always fluctuated.

Dean remembered asking about it one time, maybe a week or so ago, maybe a month at this point, and Cas explained that holding a warm cup between your hands sent off certain endorphins in the brain that are very similar to a hug, and it is often known to lift the mood of someone who's particularly down. He also said that the tea in general just helps, but didn't elaborate on how or why. Dean took it as it was; Cas's own way to show that he's there for him without all the heavy petting and physical shows of affection that would be there otherwise.

Castiel has this thing about keeping his hands to himself as much as possible.

Dean always just assumed it was a thing with germs, seeing as he's going to be a doctor, but realized that maybe that wasn't the case.

At the New Years party Cas' invited him to, he saw him hugging all these people and shaking their hands and even sharing a high five every now and again, but he won't so much as accidentally _brush_ Dean's arm without apologizing a million times. The mechanic wasn't sure if it was because Castiel thought he was _fragile_ or something, but he can't be for certain. He doesn't really know what he thinks about the subject, or even if it's just _Dean_ in general, but the lack of real physical contact was setting the mechanic on edge.

It wasn't like he wanted to _touch_ the guy, but a platonic high five every now and again would be awesome.

Maybe it was just the fact that he was so used to being held and hugged and well.. _touched_ when he was around Lisa. He was so accustomed to the contact that he felt, even just a little bit starved for it. However, Dean wasn't going to ask for a hug or something equally depressing if Castiel was already too uncomfortable to do it himself.

Castiel was already doing so much for him, he really doesn't expect any more from the guy-- and even Dean is aware when certain requests are just a bit over the top. Not like he need's one, of course-- it's just the thought that counts.

"Anything yet?" Dean nearly jumped when he heard Cas' just a few feet away from him, having gotten so lost in thought he hadn't realized that he moved. The mechanic shook his head almost mournfully.

"No," he breathed, "nothing yet."

"Perhaps we should call someone?" Cas' suggested, opting for a bit of hopefulness.

That was another thing about Cas; the glass was always half-full.

"We might have to," Dean eventually said, shifting in his seat to sit a bit closer to the edge. There was a high pitch shrill ring that was gradually growing louder, causing Cas to return to the stove to slide the kettle off of the hot surface. Dean turned his gaze away from the paperwork to watch the medical student as he jumped from cabinet to cabinet. Dean wasn't sure why he was watching, but something about how gracefully he moved from one surface to the next seemed to calm down a bit of the bitterness bubbling up inside of him.

He watched as Cas moved from the stove to the fridge, pulling out cream that Dean couldn't read the label to, and as he jumped from there over to the mug he's previously pulled down with a packet in his hand. He made a cup so effortlessly, grabbing out a second for himself. Again, he moved as if he were sliding on air from each platform, and with a sort of uncertain and clumsy gracefulness, Dean could already tell that he'd be a flawless surgeon. 

After he put away some of the items he pulled out, Cas carefully picked both of them up by the handles, stepping with practiced ease as he slipped over to the table and set Dean's gently steaming tea in front of him. It smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and all he could do was murmur a soft _thank you_ before bringing it up to his lips.

The liquid was hot, and reminded the mechanic of molten lava, jerking back when it touched his lips. Cas must have had lips of steel because the heat didn't seem to bother him as he took careful tentative sips, the steam brushing and rolling into his face as he drank little by little. Dean settled to smelling the tea before blowing on it, wrapping his fingers around the cup, which burned, but it was a good kind of burn, and the feeling made him relax into his seat. It took a little over a minute before he could finally set to drinking the liquid; wrapping his lips around the edge and tilting the mug upwards before the liquid hell fire grazed his lips.

Much like Castiel, he took tentative sips, carefully drinking until his mouth grew accustomed to the heat.

It tasted much the same way as it smelled, like cinnamon and vanilla and a few other things he couldn't quite put his finger on. He wanted to say something like _nutmeg_ but he knew that wasn't quite right. It didn't matter, regardless, it tasted pretty damn good so he wasn't complaining.

"Thank you," he murmured, taking another quick sip before placing it down on the table, the hard ceramic glass thudding sharply against the table as he set it down. Cas looked up at him, a soft smile settled on his lips and he nodded.

"Of course." he responded, before setting his own cup by his side and picking up the pages he had placed down earlier.

Dean felt a bit warmer, the heat waking him up a bit as he grabbed the sheets of paper once again. They spent a few hours like this, most of which took place in relative silence as Cas looked everything over to make sure he had a good understanding about what was going to happen and what needed to be done, while Dean filled out as much paperwork as he could until his hand ached from the excess use.

The silence was beginning to bore into the mechanics brain and it was sending him a bit off edge, so he decided to do something about it.

"Hey, Cas'," Dean began, causing the medical student to lift his head to face him. "does your record player still work?"

"The one with the crank?" Castiel asked, to which Dean nodded.

"Yeah, the one in the living room. Does that work?"

"I believe so," he responded, his tone thoughtful. "why? Would you like to listen to it?"

"It's really quiet in here," Dean gave as a response, "and I left my computer in the car."

Castiel smiled, and Dean couldn't help but grin back. He needed to get his mind off of this, at least for just a moment, and playing some music would do just that and they both knew it. Cas nodded, pushing up from his seat.

"Alright, I'll go prepare it," Cas tugged the pen from behind his ear and placed it on the table as he began to walk away. "I do believe I still have some old records under the TV, go check to see if there's anything you may like." he commented over his shoulder, already out of the kitchen and halfway into his living room. Dean didn't need any more invitation than that and jumped up from his seat, feeling almost childlike excitement quicken his step as he pushed from his spot and darted into the living room.

He almost skid to a halt beside the TV and opened the cabinets directly under it where Cas kept all his movies. Scanning over the titles, he looked over to the left and found a few large squared folders, and slipped them out, muttering praises under his breath as he began looking over the covers.

There was a few of them that he didn't know, and at least six of the numerous one's he had were foreign as far as he could tell. Tugging out a few more, he found some golden oldie's in his opinion, looking at a few Ruth Ettings, Johnny Cash, Bon Jovi, and Kansas for instance; he even came across Elvis, smirking to himself before slipping out a few others, setting the ones he's already pulled out, neatly to the side.

"Here we go," he mumbled, grinning to himself as he slipped out a Black Sabbath record, quirking his brow in the medical students direction. "I didn't know you like Sabbath."

Castiel upturned his head from the record player, glancing over at the mechanic from across the room. Nodding faintly, "I listen to them sometimes, however most of the albums in there belong to my brother Lucifer."

"Nick's got some pretty great taste then, doesn't he?"

Castiel nodded, letting his hand release the crank before stepping over and taking a seat beside the mechanic. "I do have a few of the more popularly known bands, such as AC/DC, Metallica, and Gun's N Roses, all of which are Lucifer's, of course, but he never really listened to them-" He reached forward, his eyes scanning over the sides before his fingers brushed along the bindings of one, pulling it out. He was toting a Led Zeppelin album on vinyl, to which Dean let out a pleased sound in the back of his throat. Castiel handed it over to him to look over, which he did with relative ease; humming appreciatively as he pushed himself to his feet.

Castiel hoisted himself until he was standing, watching as the mechanic rushed over to his cranked record player, sliding the old album onto the center and it began to slowly spin, gradually picking up speed as Dean gave the crank a few more turns for good measure, placing the needle on the end of the edge of the large disk. The sound was scratching for a moment when they touched, like a static burst before the first few soft cords struck.

It was gentle guitar as Dean stepped back, pacing a few good feet backwards until the backs of his knee's made contact with the couches armrest. Castiel was hovering next to the couch on the other end, an eyebrow quirked in what Dean assumed to be thought.

"What's this one called?" Cas queried out loud, running his hand over the side of his face, the palm rubbing against his jawline before scratching. Dean watched the movements absently before catching himself, shifting his blank expression into a confused one in a matter of moments, blinking at the medical student.

"C'mon, Cas. You _gotta_ know this song." Dean snorted, his arms crossing over his chest. Castiel only shook his head, the slight movement caused the ends of his hair to slightly bounce, catching Dean's attention who quickly pushed the thoughts away. The mechanic scoffed, "You're joking, right?"

"Why would I joke about this?" he had a point.

"Everybody knows this song!" Dean defended, gesturing towards the record player as Robert Plant, the lead singer, began to gently sing his first cord. Dean licked his lips purposefully, keeping his eyes steady on the medical assistants face. Following along with the lead singers voice.

" _There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold,_ " he began, jerking gently from where his side was leaning against the armrest of the sofa, stepping up to the other. Cas was watching him with squinted but amused eyes, refusing to break eye contact. " _-and she's buying a stairway to heaven._ "

"Dean, I don't know the lyrics-"

" _When she gets there she know's-_ " Dean didn't stop, grinning at Cas as he reached forward and tugged at his friends sweater sleeve, gently pulling him forward along with him, and escorting him into the open space behind the sofa and closer to the record player. Cas made a sound of disagreement in the back of his throat, but he was grinning and didn't resist. " _-if the stores are all closed. With a word she can get what she came for._ "

"Dean-" Cas urged, but his voice cracked when a chuckle tried to break past. Dean smiled at that, pulling him along by his sleeve and moving him around in circles, spinning as he tried to get the medical assistant to join in.

"C'mon Cas', I know you know these words," Dean chuckled, holding the other's wrist as he began moving his feet in time, rather clumsily, to the music. " _Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven._ " he continued, but Cas was still reluctant to join in. However, he was laughing at this point, the side of his bright blue eyes crinkling as he smiled.

"I'm not gonna stop till you join in, man." Dean laughed, and eventually Cas began falling in step with him. Mostly due to Dean forcing him to move, but he was moving none the less. "Sing it with me now, _There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure. 'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings._ " Cas' gripped his wrists back, moving along with him in their clumsy backwards dance that didn't match any rhythm they were trying to follow, but for some reason, they didn't seem to notice or care. " _In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings, sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven._ " Dean sang just a few octaves louder this time, and Cas' laughed at the sound.

" _Ooh, it makes me wonder-_ "

" _Ooh, it makes me wonder._ " his voice was rough and raspy when he began, wavering a bit towards the end due to holding back a laugh. Dean whooped at the effort, grinning widely at the other, whose cheeks were beginning to grow scarlet red.

"Look at you," Dean smiled, watching the shorter man as he attempted to stay in step, "and you said you didn't know this song."

Castiel shook his head, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment but the grin didn't waver as didn't the laughter in his eyes.

"I don't," the angelic man snorted, tugging on his arms a moment to try and pull free of the mechanics grasp, his feet halting in their jagged motions. Dean tsked, shaking his head as he pulled the other along, who struggled to resist through his body wracking with laughter, each burst leaving him weak to fight back.

"Oh no you don't, Cas." Dean laughed, "you're not leaving until the songs over."

"But Dean, I-"

"No _but Dean_ s, Cas. I'm not going to let this song go to waste, c'mon! _There's a feeling I get when I look to the west-_ " 

"- _and my spirit is crying for leaving-_ " Cas continued feigning reluctance, trying to force down the grin on his lips as Dean spun him on his heels.

They continued on like this for what felt like an eternity, throwing back lyrics out of sync and severely out of tune, and Cas was-- _Jesus_ Cas was smiling with his whole face, and not in the sort of way where his mouth seem to devour the rest of his features, but in the way that the gesture reached and spread to his eyes and over his cheeks, to even his ears and brows and somehow even his hair looked pleased. Mussed up and scruffy. And the look just lit up his whole face like a camp fire in October where everyone was wrapped up in sweaters and mittens, a hot cup of something in their hands with their noses a bit red from the cold and orange leaves sticking to the bottoms of their shoes and around their feet.

Castiel kept wanting to stop, the heat in his cheeks evident but Dean knew he had it in him. He didn't want to force him to do something he didn't want to, and he sure didn't want Cas to get uncomfortable, but he didn't stop dancing, even when he slowed down. Cas continued to spew apologies whenever the singing would pause, as if he was personally offending Dean with his very existence and Dean had to assure him consistently that he didn't do anything wrong.

That was the thing about Cas, he always blamed himself even when there was no reason to point fingers.

Dean wasn't really sure why he was apologizing as much as he was, but he later realized it was due to being so sorely embarrassed with how he was dancing.

Dean knew he wasn't a _Dancing Queen_ himself, he knew he was pretty awful, but Cas made it seem as if he couldn't compare with technique, which again, didn't make much sense, but Dean made a point to prove that there's really nothing to be sorry for.

He danced just as disjointedly as Cas, so that the other wouldn't look so off balanced as he moved in that dorky gracefully yet somehow in that completely clumsy way that he did. Dean made a point to try and match the other's rather awkward steps, chuckling to himself for a lifetime before Cas seemed to notice that Dean was copying him. The mechanic burst out laughing as his friends face contorted into something deeply confused, tilting his head as he stopped moving. Dean was breathless by the time the ending chords were beginning to mash up.

" _-And as we wind on down the road, our shadows taller than our soul!_ " They were shouting at this point, their voices almost painfully off key but Dean didn't really care about sounding flawless, and Cas was just enjoying acting a bit out of his own personal guidelines he set up for himself, letting himself relax and shout along the mechanic. " _There walks a lady we all know-! Who shines white light and wants to show!_ "

They were almost screaming at this point, as if they were trying to see who could be louder. Dean was _fairly_ sure he was winning, but he knew his voice cracked when he got to a certain octave, not to mention it was incredibly hard to outmatch the other when he made this.. this _face_ when he was shouting. It wasn't disturbing, or hilarious, but it was incredibly-- Dean couldn't put a word that just described the kind of expression the medical student seemed to make. His nose would scrunch up with his eyebrows lifted but furrowed, his smile reaching so far it was crinkling the sides of his eyes and it was just.. _endearing_.

In a non gay specific way of course.

Just platonically endearing.

But like, really, platonically endearing.

Cas was watching him with lit up eyes and a golden expression that'd make frost off of a flower petal melt and grey clouds part to let the afternoon sun shine through. It was this soft and welcoming expression that seemed to genuinely smile and breathe happiness and contentedness that Dean hadn't really seen someone with that look since after Lisa and him became married.

Lisa.

There was a crack in Dean's smile, feeling the adrenaline fade ever so much when her name came back to mind.

The paperwork, the divorce and her cheating, having to move out and leave Ben behind. All of it came back in a wave that it effectively cut off the buzzing feeling he'd been experiencing the past few minutes as the song played, he didn't stop moving, just kept dancing but it felt a lot less eventful than it did just a few brief moments before. Cas didn't miss the look that must have flashed across his face, because in a matter of moments Dean could clearly see concern flash over his own.

Dean was about to just stop dancing altogether and turn off the record player, he was being a complete idiot and it was a really stupid idea for him to even try to get his mind off of things. What was the point? It was just going to lead him further into disappointment, and he just kept pushing off of this wall to just continuously shove himself against it again and again and he was tired of it.

His arms stopped moving, for just a moment when he felt something warm wrap around his wrist.

Dean glanced up to see Cas standing there, still smiling, but there was something else there now, like a soft cautious effort, maybe it was support, maybe neither but there was something there that the mechanic couldn't quite put his finger on. He knew it was sitting on some level, but he couldn't quite explain why it made him feel so warm.

Cas grabbed his other wrist, the smile still on his lips as he began pulling Dean along just as Dean had done with him in the beginning. He wasn't shouting the lyrics anymore, but they were like a soft hum now, urging Dean to join him without specifically stating that was his intent. The mechanic smiled faintly at him, humming along until he began listening to the words again, letting them form on his lips right next to the medical student.

He was speaking the lyrics at this point and they sounded almost bland on his lips now, like something struck him and sucked the life out of him, not nearly as enthusiastic as before. Cas squeezed his arms, reminding Dean that he wasn't alone in this, even though Dean didn't have to say what was irking him; Castiel always had a way of knowing what it was and how to help, without ever having to utter a word.

No one sang along to the next two lines, and Dean almost felt guilty for not jumping in on it.

Story of his life, Dean thought bitterly, all he ever does is take a good, happy, situation and turn it to shit in a matter of seconds. Jesus, he had no idea how Cas tolerates him, or why he ever wants to try. Maybe that was just a thing with those going into the medical profession, they liked to pick up broken things and see if they can fix them before dumping them when they realize they can't. 

On some level Dean knew that wasn't true, but he figured it was just easier to think the only reason Cas would ever willingly spend time with him is to study him, pity him, and in the end, get rid of him, because he is no longer of use. Dean wanted to hope this wasn't true, but sometimes it was hard to read between the lines when it came to Cas-- he was just so professional about anything and everything under the sun it was hard to imagine that he'd ever have a heart to heart with someone.

Well, whatever it was that was keeping Cas here, professionally or likewise, he made Dean feel more at home than he has felt in a long time.

He was still watching him, pulling him slightly to whatever was left of the song as it was slowly dying off, and he was still smiling that dorky pitiful smile he's been sporting, and Dean could feel the look burying itself inside of him, burrowing somewhere deep inside and promising something he couldn't even begin to name just yet.

It was a warmth and it was enough to get a soft smile out of him, and eventually, as the last of the words were coming up, he was able to grab enough in him to mumble out the words alongside the medical student before the song officially ended. It was quiet a long moment before the beginnings of the next song were beginning to play, but Dean was too out of it to pay attention to what it was when he felt two impossibly gentle yet strong arms wrap around him, nearly jolting him out of this funk he's tossed himself back into.

Castiel had his arms wrapped around the mechanics upper arms and torso, and for a long moment, Dean didn't move. Finally _finally_ after what seemed to be an awkward eternity, he reached back, arms slipping a bit unbalanced around the others middle, seeing as he couldn't lift his arms any higher due to the position of Castiel's, but it was enough.

They were still a moment, and that's when Dean felt Castiel's grip on him tighten, even for the briefest of moments, right before he let go. But it just-- It felt like he was supposed to be there. Like he fit against the Winchester like a jigsaw puzzle piece and it threw Dean off more than he was ever willing to admit. It wasn't-- a _bad_ sort of feeling, just an off one.

When Cas moved his body away, Dean was semi surprised by the fact that his friend was still clutching his upper arms, and he was-- _looking_ at him. Which, in itself, wouldn't be so strange if Cas wasn't looking at him as if he was transparent-- like he could see everything he was trying to bury, and fuck it, maybe he could. Cas always had this way of reading him as if he spent every waking moment studying him. To be honest, in some cases, Dean was grateful for it.

It was sometimes just so much easier for Cas to just _know_ than to swallow his pride and tell him, which he wouldn't anyways. Sometimes talking was too hard, and to pent up his feelings had always been his best course of action. He knew it was unhealthy, but growing up in a house full of broken men, it was just how things worked-- Bobby never spoke about what ailed him, although Sam and himself already had an idea; the older hunter had indirectly taught them that holding it in was easier than letting it out. Sam and Dean both knew this, and yet they both knew that Bobby would never stop beating himself up over it if he knew, so they never really brought it up.

It may have been unhealthy, but, at least in Dean's opinion, it was easier.

It was always just easier to pretend he couldn't feel anything at all than admit he was hurting inside, and Cas having this strong sense of empathy, at least that's what Dean assumed it was, made it easier for the both of them.

On other occasions, it's frustrating-- _unnerving_.

It felt almost wrong for someone to be able to read him as if he was a child's book. For fuck's sake, he's spent _years_ with Lisa, and _she_ never really got some of the signals he sent out. Hell, maybe it was just Dean. Sam and Bobby knew when he was having a rough day, but sometimes what he was feeling would go right over their heads as well, but it wasn't like they weren't trying to be helpful. Most of the time with Lisa she just never seemed to get it. Not with his talk or brooding, or even his snapping. She simply blamed him for being in a bad attitude, _if_ she even realized he was having one, and brush it off.

But with Cas? He read between the lines and did what he could to fix it or make it better and _never_ blamed him for having a half-assed day. He was so used to just dealing with the shit he was feeling that it really threw him for a loop when Castiel had actually tried to do something about it.

Dean blamed the fact that he was a doctor, or soon to be doctor, and it was technically his _job_ to know what's wrong with a patient. 

However, technically Dean wasn't a patient, and hoped that Cas didn't see him as some Lab Rat he could study.

"I wish you would stop thinking things like that." Dean heard the other mutter as he pulled away, hands having previously slid away from his shoulders to grip his upper arms.

"Jesus, what are you? Some kinda mind reader?" the mechanic responded distastefully, sniffing as he turned to glance over at the doorway to the kitchen.

Castiel squinted his eyes at him, tilting his head in that way he does to signal his confusion. "Dean, you know very well that mind reading is impossible, and Jesus-"

"It's a figure of speech, Cas," Dean cut back in, sighing to himself, "Not everything's two-dimensional buddy."

Castiel's confused expression never swayed, however Dean's bitter mood did, ever so slightly, because it was really hard to feel awful when Castiel was looking at him like some confused puppy. He felt the inevitable tug at the ends of his lips, and fought the little smile as it tried to rise.

That was another thing about Castiel-- He was intelligent, but wasn't clever. He was graceful, but also clumsy, and he had this way of making someone smile when they very much didn't want to.

Dean watched as Castiel's shoulders slump, watching as his brows tightened and feeling as his arms slipped from his sides. Castiel exhaled through his nose, forcing out the air more than just releasing it and Dean knew he was about to say something else. Opening and closing his mouth a few times as he tried to think over something to say, or perhaps he already knew what he was going to say, but was trying to figure out a way to approach it.

He did that sometimes.

"Dean," he began, tone slow and controlled, as if he were dissecting the words as he spoke. Dean watched him carefully, seeing as his friends eyes shifted as he thought, his pink tongue brushing from between his lips and swiping against his lower one. For a moment, the mechanic didn't believe he was going to continue until he heard him take in a sharp intake of breath.

"Dean, do you know how many brother's I have?" the dark haired man asked slowly. Dean licked his lips, eyebrows furrowing a tad but didn't question it. He was quiet a moment, pausing, before eventually shaking his head.

"No, Cas. I don't." he said in a way that questioned why Cas' was even asking, or what the point of his query even was.

If Castiel noticed, he didn't comment on it, watching the mechanics face before shifting his gaze elsewhere.

"I have five brothers, Dean." and Cas was looking at him the way he did, confused and perplexed like he was some kind of object he was trying to figure out. There was a softness to that look, but Dean wouldn't watch for too long without growing uneasy. "Five older brothers who picked on me, tormented me, and often neglected me."

"We fought, usually on opposing teams, but sometimes among one another. We were brothers, but sometimes our home would become this battlefield and it was easy to forget sometimes." Cas frowned, pressing his full lips together a long moment before he continued. "Lucifer and Michael were usually the offenders, but I know that Luce was merely trying to look after Balthazar, Gabriel and myself. Raphael and Michael were already tearing each other apart, and Lucifer could only take so much before we finally left."

Castiel breathed, his large eyes shifting around before landing back on the other, as if he was trying to get his thoughts in order. Dean didn't speak up, or make an attempt to interrupt, waiting for the other to continue.

"I'm saying this," Castiel began again, swallowing a lump in his throat, "because as I was growing up, my father didn't care that we tore our heads off, figuratively speaking of course, and didn't bother to settle us when we truly needed his guidance. I grew up in a battle ground, in warfare that I can't simply forget about, but Dean, none of that matters." Dean blinked at him, clearly confused. "None of that matters, because in the end, I left. Feeling uncared for, neglected-- I have the mentality of a soldier because I grew up on a battle ground of brothers trying to destroy one another. Yes, I still have Lucifer, and now I even have Gabriel, but overall I didn't have anyone to look up to growing up."

"Didn't you just say that you had Lucifer?" Dean questioned, quirking a brow.

Cas nodded, "I did, at times. But only when it came to Michael and Raphael, other than that we were all truly on our own. Needless to say, because I'm the youngest of five brothers, I more often than not became the center of most torment-- I was..-" Castiel paused, his hand twitching at his side. "Dean, it was awful. I know that now, but I didn't back then. I suppose I always assumed that was just how siblings acted, frightened and vicious towards one another, uncaring and neglectful. Cruel."

"I used to blame myself," he continued, "I used to believe I deserved the harsh words, the initial fear that I'll catch Michael or Raphael's attention. I used to believe that I wasn't _worth anything_ or that nobody would ever bother with a thing like me. But when you're around-"

There was that pause again. Castiel swallowed thickly, Dean watching as his tongue flickered over his lower lip.

"-when you're around, I realize that is not quite true."

"Cas..-"

"No, Dean-" Castiel shook his head, "let me finish."

The mechanic fell into an uncertain silence, not completely sure where his friend was going with this, but was very clearly willing to wait.

Castiel's breathing was a bit abnormal, as if the words escaping his mouth were doing so on their own free will, but that determined expression on the medical students face clearly spoke otherwise.

"When you are around," he began again, "-when you're around.. I forget about all the negative aspects of my life, and you being here with me reminds me that even though the world may have bad attributes, and some even downright horrid, that sometimes something good can come of it." Dean opened his mouth to speak, but once again, Castiel beat him to it. "You need to understand something Dean, beating yourself up for something that was not your fault is not healthy, and it is certainly not right."

"You don't know that, Cas." the mechanic frowned, "If I _hadn't_ done something wrong, then Lisa wouldn't be leaving me. I had to have messed up somewhere along the line for her to think ' _Wow, I don't want to be shackled to this douche bag anymore, how about I go find another one._ '."

Now Cas was really look at him. Like, _really_ really looking at him.

"Dean, you misunderstand me." he said softly, his gruff voice never taking away the sincerity. "Whether you did, or did not, do a thing, nothing that you could have potentially have committed would have made this your fault." _You can't blame yourself_ Castiel wanted to say, _Don't blame yourself like I did_.

"You don't know that-"

"Did you cheat on her?"

Dean's head snapped up, his expression almost offended and simultaneously bewildered. "Excuse me?"

"Answer the question Dean, did you ever, at any point, become unfaithful to your wife?"

"What the hell does this have to do with anythin-!"

"Dean, did you ever-"

" _No!_ Goddamn it, no. _Jesus_ , I could never do that to her." Dean growled incredulously, to which Cas merely nodded.

"Have you ever harmed her? Physically or emotionally?"

Dean swallowed before shaking his head, clearly frustrated with his line of thought. "We've argued a few times, but it never got violent."

"Then do you see the problem?" Castiel was quiet, his voice soft as he spoke, losing the initial diction and intensity as before. Dean blinked up at him, his lips coming together and stiffening, pressing them together in a tight thin line.

"I hate to see you like this," he sighed, "I hate that you let her blame you, and that you actually believe her."

"Well why shouldn't I, eh?" Dean snapped, "Why shouldn't I just believe what she tell's me and leave it at that?"

"Because it's _not_ that _simple_ , Dean." Castiel's voice raised, punctuating every syllable and causing Dean to visibly flinch. "It's not that simple, because it's _never_ that simple, and the sooner you come to realize the cruel reality, the better off you'll be and eventually, the happier." the longer he spoke, the more his voice slowed. "You want to believe what she say's because that's what you've always done, and the truth came out that she lied, and all you want to do is drink up her tales because it makes you feel safe. But it's not safe and it's _not_ healthy, and I want you to _want_ to realize this."

The mechanic clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring with his fingers curling at his sides. His eyes were narrowed, shooting around the room and looking at everything but Cas. His jaw working and unable to come up with a coherent sentence for an abundance of time neither one of them felt like counting. Dean breathed out a heavily forced sigh.

"It doesn't matter," he spoke slowly, "let's just go back into the kitchen and-"

"Dean-"

"No, just- _fuck it_ Cas!" Dean shouted, his tone spitting venom. Castiel flinched at the others yell, effectively silenced. "Just fuck it, fuck her, _fuck_ this _stupid_ fucking divorce just.. _Fuck!_ " he threw his arms, slamming it against the nearby lamp and throwing it against the wall, the glass broke and rained against the carpet like a million fogged up rain drops. The sound was earth shattering and it made the mechanics blood run cold at the fact that he lashed out, not missing the surprised shocked expression that settled on the medical students face.

The guilt washed over Dean far quicker than he'd like to admit, and Castiel's face-- Dean could feel his face heat up with embarrassment, his eyes stinging and he was just so _angry_ he just didn't know what to do or say. He felt as if his brain had short circuited from the shock of the fact of what he did, and the utter denial that he did something so irrationally stupid in front of the one person who actually believed in him and supported him. He felt his eyes brimming, and _Jesus_ he wanted to run, to get the hell out of there, but his feet wouldn't listen to his brain and he just couldn't bring himself to move.

"Look at me." Dean had barely registered the words escaping his lips until it was too late, "I fuck up everything I touch, I-" he swallowed thickly, his eyes staring holes into the carpet by his feet because he knew he wouldn't be able to hold the others gaze. Because he was terrified of what he might see. He couldn't bare the thought of Castiel being angry at him, holding animosity or contempt-- but _god_ Dean knew he wouldn't be able to handle it if he actually saw _forgiveness_ in his eyes, because he knew he didn't deserve it.

"I come here, eat your food, don't pay rent, _break_ your shit-- for fuck sake, that lamp probably costs more than my yearly wage," the mechanic's gaze turned over and looked over at the broken shards laying in a messy pile by the wall. "I don't know why the hell you even bother tolerating me."

"Don't say that." Dean's eyes upturned barely, looking more at the knee's of the medical students jeans. Unable to raise his gaze any higher. "Dean, don't ever say that about yourself."

"And why not?" his voice was hard, "It's true, and you damn well know it as much as I do, so stop playing the angel here and being _all forgiving_ because we both know I don't deserve it."

Dean barely realized that Castiel was moving closer towards him until he saw his shoes in his perpetual line of vision. He didn't move nor look up when the other got close, feeling his bright large eyes staring holes onto the top of his head.

"Dean, look at me." Castiel's voice was low, controlled and soft. Gruff in a way that reminded Dean of how impossible it should have sounded coming from a man that looked something akin to a child at times. Castiel asked again, like a slow request, tone ever so gentle as if he was frightened if he spoke any louder, that Dean would simply crumble.

It _infuriated_ Dean to no end.

He always felt as if he was being looked after like some kind of infant, like he was incapable of taking care of himself when it came to Cas. It _confused_ the _hell_ out of him. The feeling that Castiel believed he could do anything he put his mind to, that he could overcome this, that he didn't need help and he was an adult, but sometimes it was as if Castiel saw him as this helpless child who needed guidance and it just _irritated_ him, and he just _didn't_ know why.

Eventually, Dean looked up at Castiel, a bit reluctantly, but he did so all the same.

And Cas was-- He was just.. _staring_ at him. He had this confused glint in his blue squinted eyes, and for some reason he looked so-- so _hurt_ and it was forcing this sinking feeling in Dean's gut that he couldn't just push away or swallow it down. Castiel was quiet for a long time, and it was getting to the point where Dean was about ready to split and walk back into the kitchen where he can sit down, be miserable, and work on the divorce papers, but Castiel's voice finally seemed to find itself and he began to speak.

"How could you ever believe that you deserve this." It wasn't a question.

"How could I not?" That wasn't an answer.

"Dean, I-"

"Just _look_ at me Cas!" Dean snapped, chest puffed out. "Look me in the goddamn eye and tell me how I didn't deserve her leaving me. Tell me about all the ' _good_ ' I did for her. Or even about how-"

"How could you _ever_ say that about yourself?" Castiel was incredulous, his eyebrows pinched as he looked the mechanic over. "How could you believe for a moment that you're not important?"

"Don't say that-"

"Dean-"

"Don't _say_ that to me, I'm _not_ important-"

"Dean-!" Castiel reached forward, but the mechanic snapped his arm out of reach.

"Don't, Cas- Just don't."

Castiel's hand stopped midair, watching the mechanic with a carefully controlled gaze. His eyes were full and he could see that Dean's were too, as if they were getting ready to spill at any moment. The mechanic could feel the medical students eyes on him, he could feel them as if they were reading him and tearing him open like a book that he's trying to desperately understand, when he finally heard the catch in the other's breath.

"You are important, Dean." he stated, his tone distinct as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that the other just couldn't seem to grasp.

"Cas-"

"You're important, Dean." he repeated, cutting off anything Dean was going to say. Then, he said it again, slower, more drawn out, and then he said it again, repeating himself three or four times before Dean shouted at him.

"Shut up!" the mechanic snapped, but Castiel didn't, he said it firmly, loudly, over and over. Dean began to feel short of breath, his face so hot he felt cold sweats rush up his back when the stinging in his eyes intensified; But Castiel wouldn't stop, and the words fell off his lips as if it were a prayer. "Stop it, Cas! Knock it off!" Dean felt, rather than saw, the others hand rest against his arm, but Dean violently pulled away-- however, Cas wasn't to be deterred, he had his mind set and the words wouldn't stop falling from his lips.

Cas didn't make another attempt to grab him until he heard the mechanics breath hitch, his hand reaching forward, tentative, to press against the others upper arm, his voice growing firmer, along with his grip when he heard the shuddering sob that escaped Dean's lips, hearing it in his voice before finally seeing it on his face. It was in that moment that the wall that Dean had so carefully created around himself shattered and he couldn't find it in himself to care; he didn't care that Cas was seeing him as the devastated man that he was, or the scared child he was trying to bury.

He felt the others hands pull on his arm a moment before he felt two arms wrap around his torso, and before he could even prevent himself his arms snapped forward and grabbed back, clutching to the others shoulder blades as if they were a life line, burying his face against the crook of his friends neck and into his stupid sweater when he felt a hard sob rack his body. Castiel never did stop talking, but sometimes what he'd say would change form.

"It's not your fault." Dean would hear him say, squeezing his eyes tightly and feeling as if his legs were getting ready to give out.

"You're so important, Dean." They fell, landing on their knee's as another rough sob escaped his lips, his eyes stinging and his chest heavy. The sweater Castiel was wearing began to feel damp under his face, but it was warm, even if it was a bit scratchy.

"In all my years of living, in all my travels, I have never met someone as important as you." Castiel's voice was so soft, like cool water pouring down a dry throat. His arms were wrapped so tightly around him, holding him in place as if to keep him from floating away, and Dean just didn't feel like he was on the ground. He felt as if he was choking and as if there was something weighing on his chest-- all he could think about is Lisa, about Ben and about all the times he could have done something but he didn't.

Then he thought of Cas, and he knew that maybe he might have a chance to fix all of that up.

\--

"All rise."

Dean upturned his head from the end of his cold metal pen he was picking at, letting it fall onto the table as he moved to stand, turning his gaze over to his attorney, Chuck Shurley, who was gathering his pages and quickly sliding them into his briefcase.

The court hearing had been lasting for two day's now, and Dean would have thought it would have been over after the first few hours the first day. However _something_ caught the judges attention, and he extended the hearing for the next day. Dean just wanted it all over with. He was tired, his suit was scratchy and he felt uncomfortable wearing it, Cas was sitting in the back, and he hated being within proximity of _fucking_ Brady, who was shooting these stupid _goo goo_ eyes at Lisa.

Dean wanted nothing more than to punch that sonovabitch in the throat.

Regardless, he behaved. Cas testified on his behalf, concerning the situation in which he was in, and Brady did the exact same thing; but of course it was in Lisa's favour.

Jesus, when did things get so fucked.

Dean just wanted a painless divorce, wanted this to go quick and smooth but for some goddamn backwards reason, Lisa was fighting him every step of the way. Like she was _trying_ to make everything so difficult, and adding unnecessary insult to injury. She wanted the house, the money, the kid-- She was fighting him tooth and nail and Dean just didn't understand _why_.

Lisa was treating him as if _he_ cheated on _her_. As if he was the one who committed the adultery, like he was the one who broke _her_ heart, and the fact that she was playing the victim here made him taste iron in his mouth. She was just... acting different.

She never once looked at him, never said hi. Dean honestly didn't know what happened or what he did wrong; This was a Separation divorce, not an Cruelty- _I-gotta-get-the-hell-away-from-this-guy_ sort of divorce-- They were splitting up due to complications, not on the grounds that he was some douche bag who beat her and the kid. So what gives?

The judge, a man named Michael, whose full name wasn't given, was adjusting a few articles of paper in front of him as Dean began to stand, feeling Mr. Shurley's hand grip his elbow as he helped him up, mumbling to him about what angle they were going to hit this at, but Dean just really didn't care at this point. He wanted to go back home and-- Dean blinked, no, he wanted to go back to _Cas's_ home, and tear off this stupid scratchy suit and take a nap on Cas's stupid comfortable couch and watch cheesy 60's comedies in bad quality until he passes out from exhaustion.

But no, he was stuck here until Judge Michael comes up with a conclusion as to what to do, or whatever was supposed to happen when he got here. Cas was the one who did all the research, and sorta debriefed him on what may or may not happen when he finally showed up. Dean only got about half of what he was saying before being tugged along by his attorney, with Cas being pulled some opposite direction.

"Under great consideration," Judge Michael began, fingering the pages spread out in front of him, barely lifting his eyes, "I grant Mrs. Winchester the home, and the utilities, under Mr. Winchesters agreement to abide by leaving them. I also grant Mrs. Winchester full rights to the child-"

Dean's head shot up, "Hey, wait a minute-!"

Chuck gripped the mechanics arm to silence him, the judges eyes shifting over to him as he continued to speak. "-under the understanding that the child has no biological relation to the associated father, the right to visitation requested by Mr. Winchester has been revoked, and no child support shall be granted to the mother." the judge lifted his small mallet.

"No! Just wait a min-!"

"Dean." Chuck chided softly, hushing him as the judge continued to speak; his narrow gaze from beyond the podium staring sharp holes into the mechanics face, effectively forcing Dean into a brooding helpless silence.

"Another hearing shall be placed two weeks from now as we finalize agreements under the separation of the individuals." and down went the mallet, the mechanic didn't hear the last few words as it tumbled from the judges mouth. Dean nearly rushed forward when one of the officers by the stand began to dismiss people from the court room, however Chuck had caught his arm again.

"Y'know, attacking the judge isn't going to look good in your favour." He muttered, however his tone was light as he pulled the mechanic back. "You've got to calm down a bit Dean, shouting at judges never helps your case."

"Chuck-"

"Look, kiddo. I can only help you so much before my jurisdiction isn't enough." the attorney sighed, "Man, you know I wish I could do more, especially when it comes to Ben, I really _really_ do, but everything's got levels, and there are just some levels I'm not allowed to go for."

Dean watched him as he packed up his briefcase, "Look, I'll make a few calls and see if I can turn some things around in your favour, but I can't promise anything."

"Just-- just do what you can," Dean sighed, "I really do appreciate you takin' my case."

"I told you, it's no big deal," Chuck smiled, "Besides, I figured I still owed your old man for helping me out those few years back," slipping in the last few papers, he clipped his case shut before sliding it off the table, holding out his hand for the mechanic to take. "Take care, and I'll see you in two weeks." Dean gave his hand a firm shake, "and don't forget to call me up if something comes up, alright? Keep me in the loop."

"No problem, man. Same goes for you." The mechanic nodded, as Chuck turned to leave.

"Tell Bob I said hi!" he called over his shoulder, to which Dean only responded with an ' _alright_ '.

Shuffling past a few well dressed bodies, losing Lisa in the crowd, the mechanic could only spot the familiar head of hair of his best friend as he began shuffling closer in that direction. Castiel was taking avidly to someone that took a few moments to recognize. The judge, Michael, was looking at him disinterestedly, his shoulders straight and broad, and something about him was cold and sharp, like the edge of a blade. That's what this guy reminded him of, a blade.

Dean couldn't hear the words they were exchanging, but he couldn't miss the tension as it was building in Castiel's frame the longer he spoke. As he moved closer, he had instantly grabbed the judges attention, his razor gaze snapping in his direction before looking back at the medical student. Once Dean was close enough, he saw Castiel's gaze shift towards him, and he instantly saw a change in the way he was holding himself, setting his jaw and his shoulders and quickly looking as an equal to the other.

"Mr. Winchester," Michael began as Dean approached, his hands folded behind his back, "It has come to my attention that you haven't taken a maternity blood test for the child, is that correct?"

Dean glanced at Castiel who wouldn't look at him, but instead stared at the judges face, watching him as if he were waiting for something to burst.

The mechanic swallowed as he turned his eyes from his friend to the cold hard face of the judge. His features were strong, bold and narrow in some cases, and he looked a little young to be a judge, but the way he held himself suggested he's been in the practice for multiple years, even if that may not be necessarily true. Dean eventually nodded to the others inquiry.

"Castiel tell's me that your main concern is the child, and under regular circumstance I wouldn't allow anyone who claims to not be their real father any rights to the child, however if there is no test to prove otherwise, then my word may be taken as incorrect and I'd prefer that evidence doesn't come up that may show that something in my court came up as insufficient in examination." Michael spoke, his voice like gravel, "Before your next hearing, I'd suggest you get that examined and fully prove you are not his father before we continue on as to not complicate things any further-"

"Michael-"

"Silence." Michael snapped at Castiel, "I owe you no favours, little brother."

"Little brother?" Dean felt the words slip past his lips before he realized he was even saying them, catching the sharp attention of the both of them. Shifting uneasily under Cas's gaze and Michael's glare until Michael reopened his mouth to continue speaking.

"I expect to see the DNA results on my table on the date of the hearing, and if you truly care about that boy I'd suggest you say your goodbyes, because with my understanding of the situation, you have, by all accounts, nothing." If Dean had been able to look this guy dead in the eye, he probably wouldn't have noticed the little smirk as it touched the side of the judges lips. "Have a good day, gentlemen." he said as he was leaving.

However, Michael's feet stopped a few feet away, turning slightly and looking pointedly at his little brother.

"Castiel," he said slowly, causing the medical student to upturn his gaze. Michael had his tongue pressed against the bottom of his teeth before smiling; the smile made the mechanics blood run cold at the sight, shifting uncomfortably. "Give Lucifer my regards, heaven knows he may need it." and with that, he was gone.

Dean's ears perked when he heard Castiel exhale heavily, as if he'd been holding his breath the whole time. Dean turned his head as the medical students shoulders slumped, his expression looking pained. Dean took a breath before reaching his hand out, slapping it pitifully against the others shoulder.

Castiel glanced up at him, his large round orbs were sporting this hurt look, like he just saw something small get devoured and it broke his heart. He didn't know what words that were being said between them, but he got a bit of the gist.

Castiel was trying to help him.

And he even spoke to his cruel older brother in order to do it.

Dean couldn't even begin to imagine what living with that megadouche had to have been like, and Dean didn't even know how much courage Cas must have had to build up in order to even confront him, let alone try to talk to him and reason with him. Dean was smiling before he could even stop himself and pulling Cas up into a one armed hug, patting his shoulder.

"Thank you," he eventually said, causing the other to glance up at him.

"I only hurt your chances of seeing Ben," Castiel sighed his retort, pulling away. "I've made the situation worse than help it, I do not understand why you're thanking me."

"You tried," the mechanic answered evenly, "you did your best buddy, and I guess I understand now that even though you try, it sometimes won't make things better."

Castiel nodded, the movement slow and deliberate as if he were thinking, or as if his mind was flooding and the thoughts were struggling to register. It was in a way that made it hard to tell if he was tired, or bothered, but it set off this uneasy edge that told Dean he needed a few minutes to himself to breathe. They both needed a few minutes to breathe.

"C'mon man," Dean pat his arm, pulling him slightly along and faintly escorting him to the exit of the building, or at least where he assumes the exit is. "Let's get out of here."

"What are we going to do about Ben?" Castiel muttered softly, his tone so low Dean was surprised he even heard him, "When the tests come back negative, what are you going to do?"

_Are you going to be able to accept this?_

Dean paused as they were making their way to the exit, but he never did respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to a lot of Led Zeppelin lately, and I thought if anyone was gonna be a bunch of cute dorks dancing it'd be those two. I wanted to do a scene like that with Crobby, but figured that'd be incredibly difficult to fit in somewhere along the line, so I did it with Dean and Cas so I had it in here regardless. -- I'm also a complete piece of shit because whoaa now, I still haven't put Ben in here just yet. The kiddo will come in soon, but if I can get these next few chappys out, it won't be a problem. (I also had some fun with Castiel's character development in here.)
> 
> I'm so inexperienced when writing destiel, so please forgive me on that front. 
> 
> And divorce-- This was all bitter research and as accurate as I could have gotten it without actually needing to see a real divorce hearing. If anything doesn't add up, again-- let me know, but regardless, I hope you enjoyed. ^^
> 
> Thank's for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. ^^


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: (super long) Explicit Sexual Content.
> 
> And for those who'd prefer not to read that, I'd suggest skipping to the last (twenty) paragraphs/lines. Starts with -"Well, he certainly couldn't complain-" if that helps.

Cold mornings that smelled like old books and aging ink, settled against him like a light sheet that felt like silk against his skin.

As if he was drifting on air, revering in and out of consciousness, and only being somewhat aware of his surroundings. Only just barely remembering where he was, why, and with whom. He felt restless as he shifted against the soft cotton woven sheets and plush pillow that he distinctly remembered believing was a cloud. Trying to sleep had been proven to be difficult, but when it did overcome him, it did so very gently. He was drifting in and out of his dream state, aware that his body was sleeping and seeing as a dream was playing out in his head, but at times he swore he could feel the softness of the blankets covering his body, or feel this steady warmth pressed against his chest and side, something draped over his middle but being too tired to identify what it was.

Morning had come slowly, softly nudging the hunter into a sort of drifting awareness until a sharp intake of air opened up his lungs and a deep breath poured into him. Hands blindly grasping the sheets by his hips, shifting his body into a better position onto his back, until he was finally comfortable. A soft sigh escaping his lips, feeling the warmth of the sunlight peering though the curtains and washing onto his face.

Bobby's never been much of a morning person, but days like this, with a calmness drifting over him like a veil, he just didn't want to leave the comfort of his bed.

It was in those mornings that he would awake and nothing would be too cold or too hot, his blankets would be adjusted just right, the mattress under his body wouldn't feel so lumped up for once and his whole body would just feel so relaxed. It was in the mornings where he wouldn't hear his phone's ringing off of their hinges, and when the sun would be just barely peeking through the curtains of his bedroom window. The house would be quiet, stilled in a way where it wasn't uncomfortable, but more welcoming in it's presence-- where, for whatever godly reason have it, everything just seemed to fall in place.

Those mornings were few and too far between.

However, something about this morning seemed to settle inside of himself like an old friend.

For a few disoriented moments, Bobby couldn't place why the blankets covering him were so soft and thick, or why the bedding underneath his body felt modernly plush. The hunter felt as if he were floating on clouds where the gods themselves would sleep-- he'd never been so comfortable. It was honestly a bit unsettling, and Bobby knew almost instantly that he wasn't in his home. Instinctively as he began to wake, he took in a sharp intake of breath through his nose, filling his lungs with something that smelled distinctly vanilla. His face scrunched up as he tried to find his bearings, barely able to get his eyes open to see wherever the hell he was.

He could tell behind closed eyes that the sun was rising, feeling it shining over his eyes like it belonged there, and making it relatively difficult to open them at this point. A hand slid out from under the soft blankets, heavily brushing up to his face and rubbing it against the lids before they fluttered open.

Orange light was sprayed in his perpetual vision, forcing the hunter to rapidly blink as a deep breath poured into him, shutting his eyes once again in frustration; it was too damn bright. Shifting against the covers as he tried to locate where he was, why he was there, and under what circumstance was he not at home. For a little while, he believed he was still in Canaan, Vermont and nearly felt a surge of despair at the thought. However, once consciousness was finally rearing its horrid head, the memories from the night before began flooding into his minds eye.

Bobby nearly jolted upright when the memories from last night crashed back into his consciousness. It took every ounce of control he had to just simply lie there, struggling to calm down his breathing. Taking a few moments to try and still his racing heartbeat before he finally gathered enough courage to attempt to peek open an eye.

The sunlight was shining directly on his face, forcing the act to be easier said than done. However, after a few failed attempts, his eyes finally adjusted enough to flutter open, getting a good look at his surroundings. The hunters eyes glanced up to see the pale sunlight that was shining in the room as long bright strips against the bare white walls, making the reflection off of the surface just look that much more golden. The window's shutters were open, allowing in the white light from outside to pour in. The room was rather unremarkable, and Bobby has a vague impression that he was following a similar line of thought from mere hours previous. For a fluttering moment, Bobby began wondering where the hell Crowley was, but it was only when he shifted that he noticed there was a solid weight resting against his side and chest, his arm tucked underneath of the body he only just recently realized was there.

Bobby glanced dumbly down, only to be met with the top of the Scotsmen's head. The tips of his soft dark hair brushing ever so gently against his neck, his head tucked so plainly against the others chest and under his chin. An arm was draped over the hunters abdomen, the hand tucked under his middle, softly snoring as each breath escaped his lips, sounding something akin to a near silent hum. Bobby was frozen in place, unable to move, but not for actual effort of trying.

More afraid to wake him than anything else.

Crowley was utterly _out_ of it last night, and the last thing he wants to do it wake him up. Not to mention that Crowley, being the stubborn bastard that he is, would probably _stay_ awake, for some reason or an other; especially when they both know he should damn well be asleep for the next years or so. That being said, Bobby wondered vaguely about the time, glancing around the room, but being unsuccessful at finding some sort of clock. Crowley used to wear a watch, but for some reason he stopped wearing it, probably for personal reasons, but that didn't exactly help the hunter out much as he searched about.

The sun was up, so that meant it was _at least_ Seven in the morning, but that's as far as he could tell. He can't exactly say for sure where the sun is, or in what direction it would be from that _exact window_ , during this _very specific_ time of day. It was too early to try and find out the time from the sun, and he was just too tired to care. Bobby sighed softly, shifting ever so carefully as to not disturb the Scotsmen, slipping his hand out from under him and allowing it to rest around the other instead. Wrapping around him loosely as to not, again, rouse the slumbering man. Bobby could have easily just slipped away. Well- perhaps _easily_ was a bit of an overstatement, but he certainly believed he could have gotten away if he really did want to, not excluding the fact that there'd be a very sleepy, grouchy and disgruntled Crowley if he tried, but he could still pull it off.

Bobby shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position given his predicament, and felt the arm that was draped over him, tighten. The hand gripping his side, was gripping it just that much more tightly, but nothing unbearable, nor really all that hard. Simply holding on as if he were some kinda stuffed animal or pillow he was burying himself against. Bobby blinked down at him, unsure as to how to approach-- erm, _go about_ this. It's been a long time since someone's held him like that, especially in the morning, and he was severely out of practice.

At this point it was all on instinct and good morals to guide his own hand resting by his side, to reach forward and brush a few of those unruly strands of hair that were brushing against his face, smoothing them out with a gentle sway of his wrist. He stilled after a moment when he first did it, waiting for some sort of reaction on the other end but nothing happened. Bobby tried again, paused, again, paused, and one more time before being somewhat more certain it wasn't going to jolt the man out of his slumber. The hunter pressed his lips in a thin line, carefully brushing his fingers against the fluffed out strands of hair, the tips pushing them back lazily but they'd never stay that way.

There was a soft groan against his chest, freezing up the hunter's hand until he heard a disgruntled moan.

"No, don't stop-" his voice was raw with sleep, slurring the words ever so slightly as he tried to grasp at consciousness. And for a long moment the hunter was honestly petrified, realizing he honestly had no idea how long Crowley had been awake.

He could have _sworn_ he had been asleep, but now he wasn't so sure.

It didn't matter anymore, as he slowly breathed out and began to move his fingers once again, brushing the strands carefully at first before finding a nice slow and lazy pace he could keep in time. He felt, rather than heard, the soft sigh that the Scotsmen blew from his lips, feeling as his chest had expanded before contracting as he nuzzled his tired frame closer. Bobby cursed under his breath as he tried to keep his muscles from shaking, more from nervousness than anything else, but it made him feel a bit more than pathetic with each tremor that ran through his hand. Crowley didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he certainly didn't act like it nor did he comment.

It was all a bit nerve wrecking. Waking up with another man in the morning wasn't something Bobby had ever honestly considered until recently, and even then it was more of a passing thought than an actual consideration. Although he couldn't find much room to complain, because this, whatever this was, didn't leave some bitter or unsettling aftertaste on his tongue, and settled nicely against him like a blanket in the middle of a cold night. He couldn't explain it, but then again, maybe he could.

The tips of the Scotsmen's hair tickled the underside of the hunters chin where the man's head was so carefully tucked under, and maybe if Bobby wasn't so set on paying close attention to how his hand was moving and whether or not he was being too rough or too soft, he would have probably laughed, made some off handed comment and they'd probably be up and making breakfast or something equally stupidly domestic and terrifying.

But no, they were just lying there, being stupidly silent, and Crowley was being stupidly cuddly, and Bobby was panicking stupidly because he didn't know what he was supposed to do. There wasn't a goddamn handbook on this sort of thing-- he was pretty sure _waking up with another man in your bed after a date who also use to be your best friend and how to deal with it, for dummies_ probably wasn't on the market or hasn't been finished quite yet. Needless to say, Bobby would be a pretty good example for poor saps on what _not_ to do, and how _not_ to handle it. Simply because, he wasn't.

Bobby's mouth felt dry, and his heart was beating rapidly, and he didn't doubt for a second that Crowley could hear it, beating against his ear as he rested there so lazily. The hunter was trying to come up with something to say, something to cut the silence away and burn it up before it could swallow him whole, however Crowley beat him to the punch.

"I'd apologize for using you as a pillow, darling. But I don't believe I've slept this good in _years_ ," he muttered, the hunter feeling the vibrations of the others voice against his chest as he spoke. "Not for nothing, pet, but I might have drooled on you a bit."

Bobby snorted, his head leaning back to hit the pillow once again, "you're disgusting."

"Oh hush," the Scotsmen chuckled, "I just brought up the value of your shirt by 15 percent, I think I deserve a little something in return." Crowley hummed, as he pushed himself up on his elbow. His other arm, that had been draped over the hunters middle, was now bent in and resting against the mans torso. Crowley shifted himself so he could get a good look at the hunter, which in turn, gave Bobby a good chance to look the other over as well.

His green eyes looked glassy and tired, and while there were still dark circles under his eyes, he certainly looked more refreshed than he did the night before. Less stressed, less worried about everything under the sun-- His left cheek was a bit pink due to having laid on it for hours, at least that's what Bobby assumed, and his hair was sticking up everywhere besides on the side where it was a bit flattened down. He was sporting this worn lopsided smile, lips barely parted with his tongue slipping past briefly over his lower lips before hiding back behind his teeth. His normally smooth jaw had a slight stubble there, one he knew Crowley would fuss over the moment he found out.

He never really knew why, but Crowley hated having any sort of hair on his face; said it aged him. Bobby didn't think he looked bad with a bit of scruff, but it really wasn't his call. Bobby imagined he didn't have a lot of time in the mornings to fix himself up before having to head out when he was over in Rome. The hunter knew a bit of what that was like, but his situation was on a completely different chart altogether.

The elder hunter must have been staring because the lopsided smile on the Scotsmen quirked up slightly on both sides almost bashfully as he tilted his head slightly to the side, raising a brow slyly, although his self-consciousness was evident in how he was shifting. "What?" He sounded more uncertain than he was obviously trying to give off, Bobby could tell, feeling a bit guilty when he realized he must be looking at him with concern.

"Nothing," he grumbled, regaining himself, "just.. I dunno, strange s'all."

"Strange?" Crowley hummed, quirking a brow. "Strange, how?"

"Y'know what I'm talking about," the hunter stated, his words were rather offhanded, but his tone suggested thought. Crowley watched him from how he was laying, although he remained rather expressionless, Bobby could tell that he was confused-- in that _I-just-woke-up_ sort of way, where the most basic things can fly over a persons head. Crowley still looked exhausted to all get-out, so that probably had a lot to do with it. "Y'know.." he trailed off, glancing away a moment as he licked his lips before looking back at the man, shrugging his shoulders as an attempted to come off as nonchalant, but he knew the nervousness was probably pouring off of him in waves. "Just.. this."

"You mean, just-" now he was the one trailing off, hesitantly trying to find his words as if he was attempting to come off as- what? Insouciant? Bobby couldn't be for certain, because he looked rather ruffled at the notion. "-me? Right?"

There was that pause between his words, as if he was trying to figure out whether or not he was sure of what he was saying. Bobby recognized the gesture, seeing as he was usually the one initiating it. However, he didn't usually sport that uncertain and withering withdrawn look that Crowley was currently wearing. He wasn't so much as _upset_ , but rather..-- off balance? Maybe? Again, Bobby couldn't say for sure.

Regardless, he didn't look right. Looking as if he was preparing to steer himself into a conversation that he didn't look ready to have, and Bobby wasn't willing to let him finish before he even got started.

"No! No-" Bobby shook his head as an attempt to stop him from that trail of thought, or at least the thoughts he figured he was having. "That's not what I meant and you damn well know it," he coughed, almost awkwardly when he realized how that might have sounded. However, it peeked Crowley's interest, and made him drop that withdrawn expression, so perhaps it didn't come out as backwards as he thought. "I meant--" he pressed his lips together, trying to find his words, " _here_." He gestured vaguely around them, to everything and nothing specific. Saying it as if it were meant to explain everything he meant it to, covering every little detail that was whirling around in his head. Crowley seemed to get the memo, but he still urged him to continue with a slight tilt of his head, goading him on with his feign of innocence and ignorance.

He coughed once again, "y'know just--" dammit, this was a lot easier said than done. Admitting things he didn't really know how to word would be the absolute death of him one day. "uh," he opened his mouth, closing it once again before starting over, "just- waking up with someone else.. someone else-" Bobby trailed off, clearing his throat as he averted his eyes, feeling like a damn fool as he continued to ramble. "It's been uh, it's been a- _while_ \- since I've waken up with- well, someone at my bedside."

His cheeks were flushed and he felt inconceivably like a complete idiot, and for a few moments too long, Crowley laid there quiet. It took a great deal of courage and self convincing to turn his head back down to glance at the man, and he felt a sharp jolt of surprise when he realized the man was smiling stupidly up at him-- well, perhaps "stupidly" didn't quite represent the way he was smiling. It was more as if he was trying not to look so smug, and he might have been able to pull it off, if perhaps his obvious previous exhaustion hadn't drained him to the point of his smirk looking rather lopsided. A sleepy grin that looked a bit too pleased for the hunters liking.

"What?" It was Bobby's turn to shift uncomfortably under the others gaze, only because the warmth that filled his chest at the way the other was looking at him wasn't something he was necessarily used to; but that didn't mean it was unwelcome. Crowley merely shook his head, looking amused.

"You." He stated simply, as if it were the only word in the whole English vocabulary that would make any sense at the moment. He said it as if it were an overarching word that could describe every little thing he was thinking about, and in a way, it did.

"What about me?" the hunter thrummed, and Crowley chuckled at him faintly.

"Everything," he replied in that whimsical way that he did. "It's truly rather difficult to believe that nobody ever whisked you off your feet."

"That's not true," Bobby grumbled, "There was Karen-"

"You knew what I meant, pet." Crowley mocked lightly, pushing himself up on his elbows and moved to slip away from the hunter, landing on his back beside him and looking up towards the blank white ceiling. "Someone as charming as you," he mused, "must have had at least _one_ person whose attempted."

"Yeah," Bobby chuckled, pushing himself to lay on his side, facing the Scotsmen. The hunter moved to rest on his elbow, turning his hand into a fist to support his head against as he got a good look at the Scotsmen. "you."

"Liar," the Scotsmen accused playfully, presenting a lopsided grin at the hunter hovering beside him. His hand reached forward, with his delicate fingers brushing over the hunters shirt and began picking at it; all the while, Crowley kept his eyes steady on the hunter, rather than following his own gesture. "I can't be the _only_ person whose tried to get close to you."

"Well," Bobby's eyes dropped to glance curiously at the hand playing with the bottom rim of his tattered and worn shirt, "while that may be true, you're the only one whose-" he paused with his tongue in cheek, " _gotten_ \- as far as you did." Bobby glanced up to see the Scotsmen smirking, his eyebrows furrowing together, "Now what?"

"No, please, go on," Crowley almost purred, "go on about how I got the prize to a contest I didn't even know I won. After this last week, I'd love the extra ego boast, darling."

Bobby snorted, "The last thing _you_ need is an ego boost."

"Perhaps," he smirked delicately at the hunter, glancing down at the shirt he was playing with. He was quiet a moment before he glanced back up at Bobby, who was watching him with something akin to adoration. Bobby didn't notice he was even doing it until he realized it was suddenly very quiet in the room. The hunter blinked when he noticed that Crowley was looking up at him, almost as if he was waiting for something, but being too blind sided by something else to admit it or even outright say it. The moment, or whatever it was, was quickly ruined the instant Bobby cleared his throat, almost awkwardly as he looked away.

Crowley was quick to fill in the silence, and it wasn't hard to tell that he was a little disappointed by it. "So what was it that the other contestant's lacked that I didn't?" he muttered, his voice was softer than before, lacking the laugh and adding something else that the hunter couldn't quite pinpoint.

Bobby's eyes had a hard time trailing back to the Scotsmen as he spoke, but rather glued them to the man's hands that were still pulling at the front of his shirt. His fingers moving deftly over the material, and picking off imaginary dirt. Bobby paused as he thought, what did Crowley have that the others didn't?

Well, he was a man, for one, the others were all women as far as he could recall. Their gender didn't really have much to do with it, but that was certainly one of the biggest differences he could think of.

They were kind and clever, all of the women were very well put together and fairly similar to one another. Lived happy and content lives as far as he could tell, other than perhaps that they were a bit lonely-- which was a fairly good reason for them to be "husband hunting" as he liked to put it. Yet, none of them really got to him the way Crowley did. There wasn't a thing _wrong_ with any of them, don't ever mistake disinterest with disappointment. They each had admirable aspects about them, and were particularly successful in the things they enjoyed-- all good cooks, besides the one that he cooked for, and good people. But there was just something preventing himself from enjoying any of their attention, when it came down to it.

He liked to believe it was because he had two boys he had to raise, and he didn't need someone coming in and trying to take over. However, he knew that wasn't completely true. The boys needed another parent figure, another person to help bring them up and care for them in the ways that Bobby was insufficient. But finding someone else to share his bed with, share his home with, was something he found too hard to go out and do.

No matter what angle he looked at it, no matter how wonderful and right those women seemed, they were just replacements of Karen in his eyes. He couldn't do it, it was too soon to be finding someone else, and they were all understanding; besides, they could do a hell of a lot better than getting together with a hunter raising two kids with years worth of baggage under his arms.

To be honest, he didn't think they really _lacked_ anything, rather than good taste in men, but that was all he could really come up with. That, and their bad sense of timing. Bobby had a hard time getting over Karen, seeing as they practically grew up together, barely left each others sides-- glued at the hip, they were. She was his everything, his grounding stone, and after he lost her, it absolutely ruined him.

Anyone other than her never really sat right in his gut; it wasn't anyone's fault but his own.

Regardless of the fact, he didn't really know what it was about Crowley that really stuck with him. He barely gave those women the time of day, and here he was, lying in bed with another man who's successfully crawled and burrowed under his skin, residing and festering like a sore. Bobby couldn't claim being complete because of him- as if a piece of him had been missing that Crowley filled up. Mainly because Bobby didn't like to believe that he _wasn't_ whole before. It was more as if he was being covered by this feeling, wrapping around him and capturing him, rather than filling him up to the brim; the claim that he needed another person in order to be whole, was a rather flawed and insipid idea that perpetuated that a person needed someone in their life in order to be happy.

Bobby knew more than most that this wasn't necessarily true.

But he also knew, that there was no harm done when having that someone there that makes you feel like you're floating on a cloud.

Crowley was still looking up at him, almost expectantly, patiently, waiting for an answer that Bobby was struggling to give.

What was it about Crowley? Bobby didn't know. But there were a great deal of things he could name. His confidence was something the always really stuck out to the hunter ever since he met him. It was just- Crowley.

Bobby wished there was an easier way to explain it, but there just wasn't. It wasn't rational, it wasn't ideal, it just _was_. If that made any goddamn sense.

"You're persistent." he said eventually, and although it was a rather half-witted save, it earned him a chuckle from the man lying beside him. Bobby finally moved his eyes to glance at the man, his expression warm and golden with his short dark hair splayed out against the pearly white pillow, mussed up and everywhere much like he's used to seeing it-- it's like he never bothers trying to fix it anymore.

"Well, it's good to know that my resilience won over your stubborn heart." he hummed, his fingers clenching and unclenching the front of the hunters shirt, softly tugging and pulling the fabric, but not hard enough to move the hunter at any rate. Bobby felt his heart beat speed up at the notion, but didn't try to deny it, it wouldn't make much sense at this point. "On a scale of one to ten, were any of them good lays?"

Crowley could be absolutely blatant sometimes it was downright ridiculous.

Bobby scrunched up his nose before shaking his head, "Unknown, 'cause I didn't sleep with any of 'em, you idjit."

"What?" Crowley snorted as if he didn't believe him before he paused, realizing that Bobby wasn't validating and explaining that it was all some sort of a joke. "Are you serious?"

Bobby nodded as best as he could given how he was positioned, "Well, yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

Crowley looked absolutely perplexed, as if the thought had never occurred to him that-- he blinked. Bobby watched as this sort of bizarre realization dawned on the Scotsmen's face, before he saw the side of his lips perk up in a jovial, pleasantly surprised, grin. "No wonder you're so grumpy all the time, you haven't gotten laid in twenty years."

Bobby couldn't have rolled his eyes any harder than he did. More in a way to hide his embarrassment than anything else. "Is that it?"

"No," Crowley hummed in acknowledgement, his hand moved up from the rim of the hunters shirt and pressed against the hunters chest, pushing the man onto his back before Crowley made quick work to straddle his hips. The sound that escaped the hunters lips was nothing less than an embarrassing yelp he couldn't contain, surprise flashing across his face the moment his back re-hit the mattress. Crowley's knee's were on either side of the hunters hips, looking down at him from the new angle. "You're also a gentlemen, from what I can take. You don't expect sex in a relationship and that's not necessarily a bad thing, but _Christ on a bike_ you make my libido look like an absolute mess compared to yours."

Bobby's heart was in his throat, beating rapidly in his chest at the sudden switch in position, and not all of it was exclusively from panic, and perhaps that's what freaked him out the most. He smiled, despite himself, at the others remark. "Yeah, well that ain't my fault you can't control yourself."

Crowley actually scoffed, "I can _too_ control myself," he insisted, tilting his head slightly at the hunter, "I just simply choose not to when the time arises."

"You mean like every time?" that earned him a light slap on the shoulder for his effort, but they were laughing, so that had to give for something. It just felt as if they had a hard time stopping; as if this whole situation was just a bit too ridiculous to take seriously, and if they did, it would be more than just fifty shades of awkward and a lot more regrets on both ends. Laughing seemed to cut through the tension that was building up, and calmed down the beating in his chest to make this all just somewhat more bearable.

That's what he needed, for this to be bearable.

He hadn't been in a relationship for a long time, and its been even longer sense he's shared the same bed as anyone else. He's been on his own for such a long time, that he doesn't quite remember how this sort of thing works anymore; he remembers the dance but has forgotten the steps.

He didn't know if he was moving too slowly, or maybe he was moving too quickly. He couldn't be for sure if Crowley would be okay with either route, or if he even cared altogether; didn't know if he'd mind if he moved his hands to rest on his side, or if that would be coming on too strong? He wasn't as young as he used to be, and he sure as hell didn't know the sorts of things that the Scotsmen would be comfortable with-- regardless of his sexual history, it didn't give him an invitation to lay his hands on him if he didn't want them there.

Although something told the hunter he wouldn't exactly be adverse to the idea either.

"How do you do it?" Bobby rumbled softly, allowing himself to relax against the mattress, rather than lying there stiffly and tense. A few soft deep breaths to get his heartbeat back down. Bobby could feel Crowley relax against him, his thighs slumping and his full weight resting against the hunters hips-- he must have been holding himself up when he realized the tension in the hunter. It didn't really occur to Bobby that he was doing it in the first place.

"Do what?" Crowley drawled, his hands spread out in front of him, idly picking at the hunters shirt once again; almost like an old habit that never was.

"Y'know," he began absently, "how are you so comfortable wakin' up with another man sleepin' beside you?"

Crowley made a soft humming noise, "Do you mean you, or just men in general, love?"

Bobby paused a second, "both."

The Scotsmen nodded, pressing his lips together as he thought. After a long moment he chuckled, "Uhm, that's a very good question." He shifted, swiping his tongue against his lower lip as he thought. "With you," he began slowly, trying to look over his answers swimming in his head, "it just comes..- _naturally_ , I think." he looked away from the hunters face and back down to the front of his shirt, watching his hands as they skittered over the cloth, losing interest in picking at the faded fabric, and pressing with his palms against the hunters belly, sliding up to his chest before moving back down again. "I rather like you, enjoy your company. It was all just smoke and mirrors when it came to you. Honestly, I couldn't really see why it _would_ be difficult to have you here, right now, with me."

Crowley's voice grew softer as he spoke, contemplating. Bobby was silent as he continued on, staring up at him with that warmth settling in his gut again, with his adoration on his sleeve as Crowley thought.

"You were easy, needless to say, to get used to." he went on, "Ever since I first met you, you were just something I couldn't get enough of..- and I mean that in every sense of the word, darling." Crowley drawled, smiling faintly to himself but never reaching to meet the others eyes, not yet anyways. Bobby could tell that Crowley was holding back, holding _something_ back, but he didn't comment on it. He figured it was a conversation for another time, when things were no longer new; when all of this becomes more of an old custom rather than how fresh and open it was at this moment.

It all felt too fragile, too fresh to be admitting things like that. Whatever it was.

Regardless, this was okay, this was nice actually. It wasn't too fast, it wasn't pushing nor forceful; it was simple.

And Bobby couldn't be more than grateful for simple.

"And as for men?" Crowley chewed his lower lip as he paused, looking for the right words to say. "I don't know, pet. I've always found it easy to wake up to men," he began, trailing on, "it's always been a bit.. I don't know, second nature for me, I suppose. Infatuation doesn't truly have a gender, just a face and a personality and perhaps a type that you find attractive to the eye." Crowley hummed to himself, "It was just simply getting _used_ to waking up beside another human being."

Bobby made a gruff sound in the back of his throat, and if it were any other time of the day, it might have even been considered to have sounded thoughtful; but no, it was some odd ungodly hour of the morning where neither one of them had any right to be up at, and they were talking about feelings and relationships and a great deal of stuff that the hunter doesn't think about altogether in a year, let alone under an hour.

Crowley's gotten him all worked up in a bunch of different thoughts he was unaccustomed to, and it was successfully setting him so far out of tune and off balance from something he used to think was routine. It was a lot of change to process, but he was working on it, it just took some time. He wanted to get used to it, he really did, he just knew that today wouldn't be that day. Maybe in a month, maybe three, maybe in a year-- Would they still be like this in a year? Two? Bobby looked at the Scotsmen; they've been inseparable for the past few months, it was honestly hard to imagine being without him. Crowley had become so integrated into his routine, it was hard to think about breaking it away again.

Bobby didn't really want to over think it either.

The now was just as good as any other time, he might as well enjoy it; and if it branches off to later years, then so be it.

But the man sitting on him right now needed his attention more than a thought splayed further off into the future where it ought not be.

The hunter reached his hand up slowly, his fingers brushing over the pajama clad legs resting by him on either side. He heard the soft hitch in the others breath at the sudden touch, the second time all morning he's initiated the contact. Crowley grew still as his hands trailed up from his knee's all the way to the base of his legs and then to his hips, then all they way back down again. The touch was gentle but firm, steady even though his heart rate was growing erratic, moving a little further up from the mans hips; the brush of his fingers against warm skin as they barely slipped up from under the Scotsmen's faded navy green shirt.

Bobby was watching him carefully the whole time, waiting for him to wince or flinch-- waiting for him to push the hunter away or make him stop, but Crowley never did that. Instead he was completely still, but not tense, not _uncomfortable_ with the ministrations, but more in the way that he was afraid that it would stop if he made any sudden movements.

Crowley's head was ducked somewhat, staring at the hunters stomach where his own hands were resting, palms flat out against the hunters belly, the thumbs brushing back and forth idly as he payed attention to the hands up of his hips.

"What are you doing?" Crowley finally asked, but it wasn't any sort of demand, but more in the sense of him needing to know. His voice was low, sounding almost hoarse with how softly he said it, how slowly he drew out each syllable to the word. His voice sounded like coffee and cigarettes, like honey in tea to warm up with after a quick smoke on a dry and bitter winter morning.

Bobby felt his chest flutter at the sound, his mouth feeling dry as he tried to answer, licking his lips before finally glancing up to find the Scotsmen's eyes staring down at him; his eyes dark and making it incredibly difficult for him to find a response. After a moment, he brushed his hand fully up and under the mans shirt, feeling his warm skin tremble under his touch, and feeling the soft shudder that wracked through the others body as the Scotsmen's eyes fluttered shut. And only then was he able to respond.

"I'm getting used to another human being."

There was a soft sound that escaped the Scotsmen's lips, something that sounded dangerously close to " _oh god_ " before he pushed himself onto his knee's and captured the hunters lips below him. Bobby felt himself overwhelmed with nervousness, but Crowley didn't seem to notice; or perhaps he did, which would explain why he was going as slow as he was, pressing soft kisses over his lips, feeling almost as if he was trying to reel him out into open water to drown.

His hands were still under the others shirt, feeling the others pulse quicken under his hand as he brushed them up further, pressing against his torso before moving them to grip his sides. Bobby felt his flush deepen when Crowley nipped at his lower lip, his tongue flicking out and asking for that permission of entrance that Bobby could never deny him. Fingers finding their way into the hunters bed-tousled mess of hair, his blunt fingers brushing against his scalp and tugging as he pulled himself closer to the hunter, lips mashing together like an old friend.

Bobby felt the other let out a pleased sigh against his lips, quickly changing into a yelp once he adjusted his grip and flopped positions with the Scotsmen, rolling them over until he was nestled between his legs and covering him with his own body. Running his coarse palms against the warm skin of the mans belly below him, nails scratching lightly as they trailed down to his sides, earning him a muffled giggle against his lips.

"Stop that," Crowley remarked through his laugh, smiling against the hunters lips, "that tickles."

When Bobby paused, he could see the horror flash across the Scotsmen's face when he realized the ammo he just handed to the hunter; A long string of panicked _no's_ were spoken rapidly when he saw the amused glint in the hunters eyes. Bobby, in spite of him, ran his blunt fingers against the others sides, raking them against his sides roughly and the Scotsmen jolted under him, squirming as hiccuped laughter attacked his lips.

"Stop!" his hands shot out, grasping the hunters wrists who was openly laughing above him. "You're an _arsehole_ ," he gasped, " _I hate you_ , I hate _you_ -" Crowley's immediate reaction had Bobby all but chuckling stupidly as he pressed kisses along the others jawline and down to his neck. "this is abusive, I no longer wish to associate with you."

"Oh really?" the hunter mumbled lightly, pressing another kiss against the crook of the dark haired man's neck, growing accustomed to it. "Well, it's far too late for that now, you're stuck with me."

"No, I want a divorce." Crowley tilted his head away from the hunter, exposing his neck for the other to have better access to it. Releasing the others wrists to move his own to grip the others shoulder, his breathing coming out a bit shallow. "I'm leaving you, and I'm taking the kids with me."

"I bet you would," Bobby smirked faintly, pressing open mouthed kisses along his exposed neck. His eyes fluttered shut as he just allowed himself to relax against the warm body shifting and squirming lightly below him. The Scotsmen growing restless under him with his breathing growing heavy with every press of the hunters lips. Hands pressing against Bobby's shoulder blades, palms flat against his back as they slowly curled in, fisting the shirt and tightening their hold. Bobby could feel the others tug on his clothes, could feel the expand of his chest with every intake of air, and feel how quickly his heart was racing even if they were barely even moving.

He trailed his lips back up, leaving soft peppered kisses in their wake until he made it back to the Scotsmen's lips who quickly reciprocated the action.

There was this calm settled against them. A complete lack of urgency to do anything but lay there, wrapped up and warm and so very still, but there was yet that underlying feeling of advancing into territory Bobby didn't trudge into all that often. Anxious as he captured the others mouth with his own, his own lips feeling chapped and dry in comparison to how soft the others felt; nervous as his fingers trailed along the mans sides, receiving these delighted little sounds with every well placed and careful touch to his body, that had the man urging him on without even fully realizing he was doing it.

Soft and slow their lips mashed together, the hunter holding himself up barely by his arms, keeping himself from resting his full weight on the other. A soft sound escaped the dark haired mans lips, deft fingers brushing from where they rested against the hunters back, firm and needy as they brushed forward until they were resting against the base of the hunters neck; his fingers burying themselves in the mans misplaced hair, and interlacing together through the strands. The _force_ with which was pressed against the back of his head, had their mouths locked and leaving the hunter utterly breathless.

Bobby's own touches felt weak in comparison to how well and controlled Crowley's movements were. How he seemed to know what he wanted and how to get to it, while Bobby was still struggling to breathe. Every touch felt like fire against his skin, filling him with emotions he almost forgot were there.

A low sound escaped the others lips, feeling the shorter man loosen up against his touch and growing more and more pliant the longer they held together. Bobby's lips slipped far enough open to allow the mans tongue to slide in from underneath, brushing and twisting searing hot and perfect in his mouth, easing him and out and dragging him further along. The hunter groaned against Crowley's lips; all teeth and tongue and firm in a way that told the hunter this was everything he could have been no more surer about, but his movements were fumbled, clumsy and raw to the point where each motion could have been misplaced.

Crowley hands were tangled up in the hunters mussed up hair like a silent plea for something he couldn't put into words, never speaking as he didn't want to break away-- in fear that if he were to, that the hunter would somehow find some sense in himself and push the other away. Gentle and rough intermixing, and both suffering a fit of butterflies demanding to be released through their mouths and escape their chests, but only seemed to be able to flutter in circles and leaving them incapable of flight.

Bobby can't remember feeling so strange when he's kissed a person; can't remember it feeling so all-consuming. He thought that maybe it was due to kissing a man, and how different it felt against his lips-- how much rougher it was, how defined. No, it wasn't kissing a _man_ that was strange, but rather kissing _Crowley_ that set his nerves buzzing with every pliant brush of the others tongue against his own, and with how his lips seemed to just _fit_ \-- just like every other aspect of Crowley seemed to fit.

They were panting heavily, a silvery strand of saliva sticking to their mouths when they parted for air. Their breath intermixing together and rolling off of the others face in warm waves, feeling each puff of air brush against their cheeks and lips. The Scotsmen adjusted the way he was lying, his hand resting beside the hunters head, his hips moved up and brushing against the hunters, his breath catching; the gesture so slight that Bobby could have easily missed if he wasn't already hyper aware of every little thing the other was doing.

Bobby felt as if there was a fire in the pit of his stomach with every little sound, and every little movement the other did. And Crowley wasn't even _doing anything_. He was just lying there, spread out and blatantly inviting-- it was almost as if he wasn't even _aware_ of what the was doing to him; too caught up in the fact that the hunter was actually _touching_ him to realize it. His eyes were hazed and half lidded, looking up at the hunter with a glazed over and sideways smile that looked more sheepish than anything else. It was as if he didn't know what to do next now that he's gotten as far as he had.

The way the Scotsmen was shifting and how hard he was breathing told Bobby _exactly_ what the other needed, and Bobby could feel his heart in his throat at the prospect. However, regardless of his rather applicable licentious demeanor, he was smiling; his shoulders were relaxed and his fingers were brushing against the side of the hunters head, brushing some of his own rather mussed up mop of hair to the side. He looked more relaxed than Bobby's ever seen him, and that's not taking into account how flushed the others face was, or how his lips were parted, moist and kiss swollen.

Crowley was-- _fuck_ Crowley made it hard to breathe sometimes, and the bastard wasn't even _trying_.

It was hard to find someone who was just as naturally breathtaking as Crowley was, and for them to pull it off so flawlessly and without effort. Crowley just _breathed_ stunning, in all the little ways that Bobby never allowed himself to appreciate before.

The way he held himself, the way he spoke. They tiny gestures and curt glances from across the way. And he smiled like-- Bobby bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't describe the smile, much like he struggled to describe much of anything involving Crowley.

It was hard to put labels of any sort on him. Bobby can remember having this inner dialogue the night before, but, as it was hours previous, his statement still stands-- it was just too hard to put the Scotsmen in any category that would just _fit_.

Crowley was a category all on his own.

Right above breathtaking, cathartic, and obnoxious, that is.

The Scotsmen made a low humming sound in the back of his throat, something that sounded simultaneously like a moan and a yawn.

"You can go back to sleep, y'know." Bobby hummed softly, his voice rough as he spoke. Crowley blinked at him, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

"What? And miss out on this wonderfully besotted Robert Singer? I think not." the Scotsmen's voice was raw with something that sounded terribly jagged and cheery, and sounded more like a groaned sigh than an actual sentence. His hands reached froward, brushing through the hunters mussed up hair and leaning forward enough to press a chaste kiss against his lips. "No, I think I'm fine like this."

Bobby smiled tiredly into the kiss, looking down at the Scotsmen through fond hooded eyes. His grip against the others hips loosened, the palms of his hands sliding up from where they rested and moved up, lingering against the others love-handles, before his fingers grazing the warm skin underneath, hearing the welcoming hiss from the others lips as he did so. Bobby moved up a bit as Crowley's head hit the pillow once again; It was something a bit more intense than nervousness that made him pause, and his hesitance didn't go unnoticed for even a moment.

He felt a soft kiss press against the side of his lips, feeling it before registering the fact that Crowley had moved. He blinked a moment, looking up at the Scotsmen who was doleful in his expression. Crowley raised himself up on his elbows, and Bobby pushed back a little to give him a bit more room, still nestled between his legs.

"Don't you ever sit there and allow me to make you uncomfortable," Crowley said carefully, almost remorsefully as he spoke, as if he did something wrong. "If you ever want to stop, no matter the reason, then you can stop. Don't you ever feel pressured into something you're not ready for."

Bobby's eyes held the Scotsmen's gaze steadily, reading his rather ill-concealed compunction for seeming to think he has done something unforgivable. Crowley think's he's put Bobby in a position, and the hunter couldn't help but be in utter awe at how he's reacting because of it. If anything, he half expected a sort of wise-crack about him not being "man enough" to handle him, or something equally as crude and condescending-- Crowley just _seemed the type_ but Jesus he couldn't have been so wrong.

Bobby knew that he really needed to stop trying to figure Crowley out, it wasn't doing him much good in the long run.

"No, Crowley," Bobby began, shifting himself forward ever so slightly. "It's okay, I-- I want to," he said slowly, licking his lips and sounding unsure of himself as he spoke. He did, he did want to, he just-- his emotions were all haywire right now, and he's trying to set his barrings. However, Bobby's not exactly sure how to explain or express this without stumbling over his words or digging himself worse into this. He didn't want to ruin this, didn't want to be the one to cut this off if he could help it.

"No, darling, it's okay." Crowley insisted, "besides, maybe we're moving too quickly." he tried to reassure, and Bobby knew that Crowley was trying not to make him feel bad, trying to let him know he doesn't mind and that all of this was simply white noise-- just extra stuff they can do later on. Bobby couldn't help but smile at the Scotsmen's apprehensiveness, because it really showed what kind of person he was, and he was a lot more than Bobby had originally took him to be. "We can try again some other time," Crowley continued, "if you're not ready, then I'm certainly not either-"

Bobby cut him off with a leisured press of his mouth and Crowley was quick to tilt his head and lean into the feeling; Bobby looked down at the man with hooded eyes, seeing how the Scotsmen's were fluttered shut, and how his body became lax underneath him. Crowley's knee's fell further apart, hooking a leg behind the hunter and pulling him upwards just slightly to wrap his pajama clad legs to wrap around the hunters body. They pulled away with an obscene wet sound and their breath labored and shallow, clinging to each other until Crowley finally seemed to work his eyes open, looking up at the hunter with a hesitant perplexion, his tongue darting out from between kiss swollen lips and and swiping over his lower one.

Crowley's teeth grazed his lower lip before he seemed to catch himself, his words coming out unintentionally sultry and urgent. "You don't have to," even as he was saying it, it didn't sound like the words were really even registering to him, it was more of a validation-- a suggestion and reminder.

"This relationship ain't, nor will it ever be, one sided," Bobby was finally able to force out, short of breath and straining to find his words, "look, I know I've been all out of sorts, and I've been doin' nothin' but pushin' you away," he breathed, effectively getting the Scotsmen's full attention, which wasn't much more than he already had. "you get the idea, and it ain't fair that I've been.. _ungrateful_ for your effort you've put in the last few months that I've been oblivious to, 'cause I didn't get the fact that you were trying to-" Bobby's voice trailed off, sighing gently. He tried meeting the Scotsmen's eyes, but he knew doing so would only show to throw him off, and he really needed to get this out. 

"-anyways, I uh, I want you to know I appreciate the effort." Bobby licked his lips, "most people give up when they realize I'm not catching on to their advances, but you stayed and waited me out, and even now you're--" he swallowed, "just all- and I'm-" and his words were failing him, verbally pausing as he tried to recollect his thoughts, Crowley staying still and silent as he spoke, "and I just..- I feel like I should give a little back, rather than get. Even out the playing field, and I'm willing to give this a shot, it you're willing to let me."

Crowley was quiet a moment, "you don't owe me anything."

"No, I don't," Bobby responded, "but that doesn't make me want to try this any less."

And with a shaky breath, he finally looked up to reach the Scotsmen's eyes, not really sure what he expected to see looking back at him, but he sure as hell hadn't expected his gaze to be so _dark_. With his eyes wide and jaw slack as if he'd spoken the word of god or somehow became one himself right before his very eyes, and he was struggling to connect mind to body before two very urgent and very firm hands reached out and gripped the back of the hunters neck, lurching his face forward and capturing the hunters lips, and he kissed him, _hard_.

All tongue and teeth and urgency that had no right to be building up and bursting inside of one singular person, that it was buzzing and close to exploding by the time he finally got to sate the charges. Hips brushing up desperately to connect with the hunters, and the sound that burst from his lips was one he would never be proud to admit he made, shocked and breathless, and made of electricity. Feeling the others groan against his lips that felt like words he couldn't seem to make out.

"-want to see you," Crowley voice was low, dangerous, and desperate against his mouth. His fingers skittering down from the hunters neck and sliding against his back, his fingers wrapping around the loose cloth of his shirt and tugging, "all of you," lightly pulling at the others shirt, trailing messy rough kisses against his mouth and jaw and just wanting his lips to be pressed somewhere on the hunters body, leaving Bobby's chest all knotted up and fluttering at the urgency of every little touch, "now."

The demand was felt, much rather than heard, with the words searing right through him, and the others hand insistently tugging and trying to rid the shirt off of the hunters back, and this time Bobby didn't hesitated to comply. 

He leaned back to rest against his heels, feeling the Scotsmen's fingers slipping from his back and sliding down to wrap around the hem of his shirt, assisting in quickly removing it and tossing it aside. Bobby could feel the edging nervousness once again, feeling revealed and vulnerable; he knew he wasn't much, and how he hated that he had a little more around the mid section than he'd prefer. However, when he finally pulled up the courage to glance at the other man, his eyes never faltered as they dragged over every inch they could see, smirking clearly and satisfied and the hunter's shoulders relaxed at the sight. The cool morning air wrapped around him, but the chill was quickly forgotten when two very warm hands started trailing every inch of him, touching and touching and allowing himself to be touched.

His soft hands were tracing every bump and curve, mapping out each shape and finding every flaw and imperfection with clear giddiness and brushing against it as adoringly as every other part of the hunters skin. Bobby felt terribly insecure, but Crowley made no indication that he was dissatisfied, and Bobby took that as his cue to begin removing the loose worn shirt from the others body. Crowley was more than eager to comply, taking control as he slipped it up and over his arms and shoulders, tugging it loose and tossing it once he was free from it's cotton like constraints.

Faded colours quickly snapped the hunter back into attention. His confusion falling into surprise at the intricate sight of three tattoos littering the others skin. His eyes dragged over the faded ink, and he hadn't realize he'd been staring until he heard the Scotsmen clear his throat.

"Something wrong?" he thrummed, although Bobby could tell he was a bit on edge himself. All Bobby could do was shake his head, trying to find his words before he was finally able to find his voice.

"What are these?" Bobby found himself asking, dipping his hand from where it was rested to slide over the other mans chest, his fingers brushing over a few lines, almost as if he were tracing it.

"Oh, uhm-" Crowley paused, glancing down to see what the hunter was doing. "just a bit of reminisce of my rebellious childhood," he swallowed, licking his lips with something that seemed a tad anxious, "this won't be a.. problem? Will it?"

"What?" Bobby blinked, shaking his head, "no, no- I just, I don't know. You just didn't seem the type to go out and get dragon tattoo's."

"Excuse you," Crowley brushed at the others fingers with his own, pointing to the tattoo on his chest, "this is a fish."

Bobby snorted, rolling his eyes. "You know what I meant, ya' idjit," he pressed his fingers against the design once again, admiring them absently, Bobby pressed his lips together, "I'd ask why, but I'm not sure I want to know."

Crowley was the one to roll his eyes this time, smiling up at the hunter. "I believe that's a story for another time."

"I'd say so."

"So," Crowley hummed, "you're not terribly put off by them?"

"Hm?" Bobby shook his head, "no, they're uh-" and here he was again, trying to find his words. Crowley made him speechless far too often, it was honestly becoming a problem. Bobby leaned back, tilting his head and squinting one eye in mock of an artistic critic, sticking his tongue out barely for effect. Crowley chuckled at the effort, squirming ever so slightly under the hunters amused gaze. The action broke off the mans concentration, and he didn't even attempt to cover his laugh.

"I think they describe you," Bobby leaned forward, pressing another kiss against the side of the Scotsmen's mouth.

"Really? How so?" Crowley hummed, tilting his head so that the hunter had better access to his neck.

"I believe that's a story for another time," Bobby mocked, receiving a vacant chuckle from the man below him.

"Real cute."

"At least I think so."

Any response that could have come with that remark, was drowned out by how utterly focused Crowley became with every tentative touch and brush to his skin. Crowley was so warm under his palms, his skin soft and quivering from the light skittering touches, because Bobby was anything but firm when he was nervous. A lot of his tension melting away at the soft mewling sounds that reverberated into groans and soft moans at the hunters gentle and fluttering ministrations.

The humour melted away like ice in a hot water bath, and dripped further on like honey or rain pattering on window shutters. The fluttering touches lingered more, grew firm and just that much more sure with every touch and grip. Mouths dancing and devouring, in sucking bites and tender kisses that the world around them faded to black and all that existed was the two of them. Responsibilities lost and forgotten in a flurry of misplaces elbows, and frantic hands that gripped at waistbands that never quite let go. Nor could either one of them concentrate on quite long enough to remove.

With an obscene wet sound, their lips parted in their frenzy, and Bobby only just barely remembered that there was still a barrier between them, still clinging to their skin and keeping them from moving any closer. All he could think about was running his hands over every inch of the others body, and hearing more of those lost little sounds as they broke past his red bitten lips, and kissing him until he's all loose and senseless and lost every ounce of self-control he once had because _god_ Bobby was losing all of his.

Hands were at his hips and deft fingers were in his waistband. Feeling the sudden up-brush of desperate hips against his own as he tried to help hasten the time where his clothes could no longer contain him. Bobby groaned, feeling a jolt of something rush up his spine at the contact, and being so close to familiar he felt as if he could almost give it a name. There was something about that jolt that tore away nervousness into a kind of certain he couldn't deny, as his hands grew more sure and tugged at the band around the Scotsmen's waist; wanting to tear off every stitch and thread in his way, desiring a sort of closeness he never fully realized he could be so desperate for.

Bobby's hands fumbled as they tried to rid the other of his pajama's. The whole act feeling more and more ridiculous as he tried, feeling the laughter on his lips before he could help himself. His breathless chuckles only spurred a few from the others mouth as well, who lifted his hips in an attempt to help the hunter along; pajama's tossed and giggles falling from their lips obscenely, because that's how they felt: ridiculous and obscene and it was exhilarating.

Crowley pressed up against the hunter, trying to pull himself every inch closer, but it was difficult with Bobby still sporting his own pair of pajamas.

"Offoffoff-" he urged, with his excited thrumming that could never go unnoticed, practically vibrating in his urgency. Hands gripping and tugging, as the pants slipped from the hunters narrow hips and down his legs. Shifting his body just enough to pull them completely off and throw them over the edge of the mattress, leaving him nearly bare above the Scotsmen who was in a very similar predicament. He felt a hot flush spread over his chest and cheeks and settle, watching as it did something terribly similar to the other mans skin. His pale skin contrasting greatly from the red that was spreading over his chest and under the body ink that had so easily caught his attention before.

Bobby's eagerness to touch was growing more insistent, festering far stronger than his nervousness had been. All he wanted to do was run his hands over his chest and touch every inch of him that he could reach- to grip his soft angular hips and- Bobby licked his lips absently, feeling a shuddering breath pour into him. A growing insistent ache reminded him that it was about time he rid themselves of the rest of their clothing, which was becoming more inconvenient with each passing moment.

Crowley looked ready to say something. Maybe to remind Bobby that he didn't have to do this if he didn't want to, maybe to goad him on, but no words were able to escape his mouth; quickly replaced by a hiccuped moan. His body shuddering almost violently as Bobby braved his apprehensiveness and grabbed him through the thin material. Blunt fingertips found and began digging into the hunters back and shoulder blades at the touch. The reaction received was more than enough to convince Bobby that this hadn't been a poor sense of judgement on his behalf.

Without much trepidation, Bobby was able to curl his fingers around the band of the Scotsmen's undergarments. Grazing against the warm skin underneath as he slid them down and off of the dark haired man's flushed and growing arousal; the sight made the hunters heart do some kind of back flip in his chest. Feeling his blood pooling vigorously south with every hitched breath he made. Crowley was smirking up at the hunter at this point, clearly amused. Letting his knee's fall further apart blatantly- his gaze was voluptuous, biting down on his lower lip to goad him on.

Crowley was absolutely breathtaking.

Lying there with his short brown hair, ruffled and abused. His cheeks were deeply flushed and his red, kiss bitten lips, were swollen and parted. His chest was shuddering with each breath he took in and it made the hunter absolutely light headed. In the moments after, as he tried to get his head screwed back onto his shoulders, removing his own cloth-made-prisons from his body, he was at an utter loss as to what he was supposed to do next, now that he's gotten as far as he has.

Crowley seemed to take his cue, as he quickly pushed his bare hips up. Their arousal's ground roughly, forcing this lost groan that escaped their lips in unison; all skewed and raw and splaying them out bare. The room around them was a floating calm, Bobby's grip on the man's hips became deep and firm, experimentally grinding down against him, rolling his hips. Crowley gasped out, shocked and lost and urgent, lost in a fit of giddy giggles he couldn't control with every graze and press. Bobby grew more confident in his touches, feeling the Scotsmen's legs fall further away from each other and spreading, rolling his hips provocatively and invitingly up at the hunter.

Bobby's hands trailed downward, feeling the other tense and relax under his touch as his fingers brushed along his happy trail. He fumbled a moment when he found exactly what he had been looking for, setting his bearings before he wrapped around the base of the others arousal. He earned a sharp cry from the man withering below him, as he carefully stroked and brushed his fingers gently over the sensitive skin, feeling the hands on his back digging harder until there was a sharp pain; he hissed quietly, stifling the sound. Crowley arched against the sheets, his legs hooking around the hunters back as he tried to get closer, struggling to get a firmer grip on him.

Slow and soft. Not teasing, but testing. His grip growing more firm with each stroke, and Crowley was growing more undone and more applicably pliable with every tentative to firm touch until he was mewling in the hunters arms.

" _Jesus_ , just lookit you-" the hunter groaned at the sight. Crowley jerked upwards, his mouth searing hot and perfect against his own, attacking his lips with something reverent enough to be prayer and hungry enough to be pagan; hips jutting up into the hunters hand, silently asking for permission for something that Bobby couldn't quite name nor identify. Losing himself in the others mouth, with every greedy lick and tender bite placed upon them. The Scotsmen was absolutely feverish, clinging and clutching and knowing every move to a dance he could no longer remember the name to.

Bobby hadn't even noticed the others hand as it trailed down from his back to his hip, circling around until it found exactly what it was looking for. Bobby jolted in surprise, a sharp gasp in its wake and the Scotsmen drank up every feeble sound. His fingers curling expertly around him, slow and gentle at first, as if testing to see what would happen before his grip grew firmer; a broken sound fell away from the hunter, who was becoming more and more aware of all the obscene curses under his breath, clamping his teeth down against his lower lip, stifling them as he let his eyes fall down to the other mans flushed chest.

All spread out and lax underneath him. His body shivering from something other than the cold, as Bobby's coarse palms eased him out and dragged him on.

Crowley was writhing under the ministration's, his touches more eager and handed out with far more ease and practice than Bobby could even begin to imagine; however, Crowley's had more lovers, while Bobby hadn't had any-- he had more practice, knew more on what to do and how to do it, while Bobby was insufficient in comparison.

"You don't have to be so gentle, sweetheart." Crowley teased, his voice coming out as a soft short puff of air, "I don't break easy." And, as if to prove his point, he wiggled his hips, pressing against the hunters grip. Bobby huffed, wanting nothing more than to snatch that smug little smirk off of his face, and replace it with something a bit more fitting - considering the occasion.

Bobby took his advice however, his hand wrapping a bit more fully, the palm rubbing just a tad more roughly, and only adding a little bit more pressure, but that's all he really needed. A jagged sound that could have been either a moan or a comment, had drowned out anything else that could have possibly been a noise. The disjointed moan ending in a short string of hiccuped giggles that started out like a purr. "That's more like it."

The hunter smirked faintly, rubbing his hand along the others arousal, mapping out the places that had the other twitching and groaning, learning as he went, using techniques he could become familiar with. Crowley had both of his hands running along his body at this point, leaving goosebumps in their wake; Bobby hadn't even realized that Crowley had released his hold from between his legs, until he felt his hands squeeze at his hips. Blunt finger tips pressing urgently into the hunters flesh as he pulled his hips forward, legs hooked around him to keep their distance almost completely nonexistent.

Bobby fumbled as his hand worked, not sure if he was doing it right or wrong but he supposed that it didn't matter. Crowley was reacting regardless, so he couldn't have been doing terrible, even with his inexperience in this sort of thing. And the way that Crowley was looking at him told him all he needed to know.

Crowley was flushed and breathless, his back arching with his hands tightening against the hunter and moaning out nonsense. Bobby struggled to make out what was being said at first until finally he heard it; the broken little gasps that were growing louder, and lips that were moving with no sound coming out at first until " _wait-! fuck, not yet-_ " Bobby blinked in surprise, what? " _-stop Bobby please just-_ " Bobby's hand stilled, thinking briefly that he was doing something wrong. However, Crowley was quick to push himself up to meet the hunters mouth in a sloppy messy kiss, easing the hunters nerves.

"Not yet," Crowley hummed against his mouth, his breath a mere shudder with every exhale, "not ready yet."

"Then what do you want me to do?" Bobby murmured back softly. Crowley didn't answer at first, bringing a hand to the hunters jaw and pulling their kiss a bit firmer. Their lips connected and parted, noses brushing against one another, and Bobby couldn't even begin to explain just how easy it was to get used to touching him like this. How their mouths just seemed to fit, or even how comfortable he found he could be lying between the others spread and bare legs; he'd never be able to explain it, even if someone asked. There were no words to describe how right it felt, how perfect. And that just wan't a word he used very often.

Crowley's tongue brushed past his own lips and swiped across the hunters, saliva glistening off their mouths. Bobby slid his hand away from between the mans legs, and he couldn't imagine another time in his life where he ever thought he'd be disappointed because of it; He moved it to grip Crowley's waist instead, his thumb brushing over soft flushed skin, and receiving a pleased sigh in return. Yet, Crowley's mirth was missing; and was replaced by something far more clouded, looking much the same way Bobby felt. The Scotsmen nipped at his lower lip, rolling his hips up with his hands sliding around from his waist until they had a very firm grip of the older mans rear. Crowley was muttering again, but this time he was doing so against the others ear, his breath rolling off of him as he spoke.

" _I-_ " his breathing hitched when the hunters grip on him tightened, "I want you to..-" his words stopped abruptly, forming into a broken and weak shout of a moan when the hunter abruptly ground himself roughly against him. Pressing open mouthed kisses along the Scotsmen's neck and jaw, finding a spot right at the crook where he latched onto, sucking and licking, teeth grazing. Crowley was giggling again, Bobby's whiskers scratching against his neck with every kiss, causing the man to squirm for more than one reason.

The hunter chuckled, he couldn't help it. 

"You didn't answer my question," Bobby thrummed jovially against his neck, their hips brushing and pressing and never stopping. An ache building and rising with every movement, the air around them growing thick and the heat between their bodies growing unbearable and it was the most wonderful thing Bobby's felt in years.

The man was groaning again, but the soft laughter was still in his vocals. Crowley moved enough so his mouth was right by the hunters ear, his hands moving up from their resting place to wrap around the back base of Bobby's neck, holding him as he trailed his tongue and teeth against his lobe, his fingers interlacing in the mans hair and tugging. His gasps were like a rasped whisper, sounding raw with want and desire, slow and sultry as he drew every sensation out.

Crowley couldn't respond in words, or perhaps he simply didn't want to. Instead he tightened his hooked leg around the hunters waist, adding force through his arm and momentum in his body, quickly flipping their positions until the Scotsmen was straddling this man. Bobby landed on his back, heart thumping in his chest, and his eyes wide from the sudden action. However, his surprise melted away the moment Crowley dipped his hips, jolting the hunter, whose hands snapped up to his soft angular hips, his breath catching.

That was more initiative than any for Crowley to reach out towards his nightstand.

Bobby watched the subtle curve and twist of his body as his hand fumbled around. At first it he couldn't seem to find what he was looking for, huffing under his breath as his arm reached further, looking and checked everything by touch. Crowley nearly slipped off the hunter who was quick to tighten his grip around his waist, keeping him from teetering as his hand shuffled through his drawer until he seemed to find exactly what he was looking for.

Bobby pushed himself up onto his elbows and Crowley followed him up, keeping at his hips as they shifted until Bobby's back was pressed against the headboard. Feeling different than before when they were in this position previously, which most likely had a lot to do with the fact they were still wearing their clothes at the time. Not nearly as careless then as they were being in this moment. The Scotsmen kept up on his knee's, both resting on either side of the hunters hips. Crowley began kissing along his neck, his mouth searing hot and perfect along his skin and Bobby almost didn't realize that he placed something against his chest, until the cold hard thing caught his attention.

The man pulled back enough to let Bobby get a good view of what it was, seeing a small blue bottle that he carefully took from the others hand. It didn't take any sort of hint to know and understand what Crowley wanted from him, what this sort of thing entails - heat pooled vigorously south at the notion of having Crowley all..- Bobby took in a shuddering breath, not really sure how to go about doing this. He didn't know what was okay and how he was supposed to start, and Crowley seemed to remember that Bobby wasn't just one of his past lovers looking for a quick finish.

With one last nip to the others collar, he leaned back, taking the hunters hand in his own and popping the cap off.

"To make things easier, I'd personally ask you to skip this whole messy sequence. However-" he coughed, glancing down, "I'm not sure I can take you in without a bit of uhm- _help_ , love."

Bobby blinked at him before shaking his head incredulously, "Jesus, Crowley. I hadn't expected you to," Bobby rolled the bottle in his hand, looking at it a bit skeptically before applying a bit to his hand, using his thumb to spread it out over his fingers. "One at a time," Crowley bit his lower lip, watching the hunters hand, "right?"

Crowley glanced between his hand and his face, his jaw working but he said nothing, nodding to his question without further comment. Crowley sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, his teeth scraping lightly against his skin as he watched Bobby slip his hand around. Bobby's hands moved anxiously over, this thumb brushing over from the dip of his hip, trailing around to smoother rounder skin. Feeling each shudder and shiver under his hand as he moved to his destination. With a bit of trepidation, he found the spot he was looking for, if the soft hiss by his ear was anything to go by; Bobby breathed deeply, circling a moment, before he finally found himself pressing, nudging inside.

Crowley tensed at the intrusion, his hands snapping forward to the hunters shoulders, just to have something to hold onto as he tried to get himself to relax. After a moment, Crowley gave way around him, making it easier for him to advance in his ministrations.

It was probably one of the strangest things Bobby's ever done, but certainly not the worst. He swallowed thickly, his eyes trailing up to watch Crowley's pinched expression relax. Crowley puffed out excess air before giving him a slight nod to let him know he was okay.

The sensations were odd, hot and tight and Crowley was back to trailing kisses along his collar bone and neck. The once soft and delicate touches grew rougher with every bite and nip, followed with sucking kisses that latched on to any bare skin he could reach. After a brief while, Crowley signaled for him to add another once he became comfortable enough, wiggling his hips to hurry him along, groaning against his neck when the other complied.

The hunter couldn't be sure if he was doing this right. Couldn't tell what was a good sign or bad one, or even whether or not he was ready. Bobby relied entirely on the other mans sounds and actions to let him know if he was even on the right track. When he finally got up to three, Crowley was growing more and more plaint and needy by the moment. Hands grabbing desperately at his shoulders and chest, hips rocking back against his hand with his muscles quivering and back arching. He was muttering heatedly against his skin, hushed desperate whispers as he ground back against the hunters fingers, clenching and arching against each brush and stretch the other made.

His voice was a jagged groan and a pleased sigh all mixed in one, mumbling nonsense that took too long for the hunter to make out. He was hoarse as he spoke, his breath gasping and weak, " _Bobby please, oh fuck please Bobby, Bobby hurry, oh god please, please-_ "

"Fuck, _Crowley-_ " Bobby moaned, tongue in cheek and blinking, realizing he was missing something a bit important. He cleared his throat, glancing around, "Crowley, I need a-" he cut himself off, not really sure how to word it but Crowley seemed to get the hint anyhow. Without having to remove his hand, the shorter man reached out, fumbling at his night stand one last time, giving the hunter a good view of his flushed skin before he was back, settling on his lap once again with the little wrapped square in his hand. The gesture was thoughtless and perhaps even a little hasty as he brought it to his teeth to tear it open, his hands shakily pulling it out and snapping down to grab the hunter, who twitched in response. Crowley quickly rolled the condom over his eager arousal, his fingers lingering a moment until he pulled away to grab the bottle of lubricant from the hunters other hand.

Bobby saw as he poured a fair amount onto his hands, but before he could see where it was going, Crowley quickly latched onto his mouth, pressing into a deep, eager and messy kiss. All tongue and teeth and urgency when Bobby felt the other's hand wrap around him, hissing into the others mouth as the Scotsmen drank up his feeble little sounds, nipping at his lower lip when he rubbed against him with rushed, quick, practiced ease.

Crowley swatted at the hunters hand and Bobby removed his fingers from the other at his wordless command. Sliding out completely and moving only far enough to keep a firm grip on the mans waist. Crowley was the one to take charge, adjusting his hips before pressing down against the hunter. There was a long moment that dragged out to a millennium before they felt contact. Bobby faltered when he felt the breach, his breath catching and grip tightening as the man worked his way down so agonizingly slow. Bobby stayed absolutely stock still as Crowley seated himself. Their lips still locked until they finally broke apart with a wet sound. Their foreheads brushing before resting against one another as they caught their breath.

Bobby refused to move. Wouldn't, couldn't-- not until Crowley was ready, until he's adjusted, allowing him to make the first move when he finally caught up with himself. Crowley's fist was curling and uncurling against his chest, his eyes barely opened and watching the rise and fall as Bobby inhaled and exhaled. His expression was pinched at first, eyebrows furrowed together, and lower lip locked between teeth but his body was soon growing lax.

It felt like a few years had come and gone before he felt the Scotsmen's hips rise, his arms raising to slide around the hunters back, from shoulder to shoulder, hoisting himself up until they almost disconnected, until he let his body slide back down in one fluid motion; the two of them moaning out in unison.

Crowley was slow at first, trying to gain a bit of a speed as he began, wincing the first few times as he tried to adjust.

"Slow down," Bobby muttering with strain, "I'm not goin' anywhere, and neither are you." And, as if to prove his point, he wrapped his arms around the other mans middle, slowing down his movements just barely, pressing a soft kiss against the side of his mouth, "don't hurt yourself."

Crowley only responded with a small nod, rolling his hips, and earning a surprised little gasp from the hunters lips. It took an abundance of moments and seconds for Crowley to stop moving in circles and to start moving again like before, rising and falling out of tune with his own breathing, which was growing more and more erratic as he continued. 

The room was quiet, save for the groans and gasps coming from the two men, and the slight creek of the shorter males bed as they moved against it. Scratching and clinging together, hands gripping and pulling with mouths biting and sucking; moving from being slow and controlled, careful and delicate in their movements, to hips grinding and circling, becoming more and more desperate for the others touch and the feelings and sensations the others given them. The room with being filled with their combined moans and breathy curses, and silent praises on the tips of their tongues they're never able to quite finish.

Bobby's head leaned back against the headboard, wrapping his arms around the other mans middle just that much more tighter, as he thrust upward into the clenching heat. Crowley arched, slipping his hands from his back to lay flat on his chest, running them over his shoulders and arms and back down to his chest before slipping up to his neck; threading through his hair and pulling at the soft abused strands.

The hunter watched the flush as it spread over his pale chest, how the sunlight streaming in through the blinds made the man look like he was glowing. The strands of his ruffled hair looked darkishly golden and the sight was - _fuck_ , just so.. _god_ he looked so fucking amazing like this.

The way the ends of his hair bounced with him, and the deep flush in his cheeks and how his lips were parted and moist and oh so red from the not particularly kind abuse they've been given. Crowley was drawing out every sound and goading him on with every twist he made, and bounce of his body and it was driving the hunter absolutely mad.

Bobby tightened his hold around the man's middle, flipping their positions so suddenly, it forced a shocked jagged sound from the man beneath him. Driving into him with such vigor that he almost didn't realize he did it. Crowley's legs wound up and hooked behind his back, pushing himself up to meet with every broken thrust and pulling himself impossibly closer. Blunt fingertips digging into the hunters back and it all just seemed to fit, until Bobby heard the other cry out, clenching around him.

For a moment, he thought he had actually hurt him. Almost stilling to see if everything was alright when the grip against him became impossibly tighter to the point of being painful. The legs around his waist pulled him in closer and Crowley was moving harder against him, words spilling from his lips, hissed out and raw that Bobby could barely make out what he was saying. His words were broken plea's against his skin, trailed open mouthed heated kisses along his neck and jaw and anywhere he could reach, " _need you-_ " he hitched, fingers digging when Bobby adjusted his hips, trying to map out and mimic whatever he did in the first place to get him so worked up.

Well, whatever it was he was hitting, it had Crowley an applicable mess in his arms, hands holding him hard enough to bruise. 

" _Bobby, please, closer please-_ " Crowley puffed out, his body jerking in time with the hunters, " _more, closer, Bobby oh god-_ "

Heat was building the longer he held out, bodies sliding and grinding and then - "Oh god- oh _god oh god right there right there-!_ " and he was saying things Bobby's never heard him say in his whole entirety of knowing him, broken plea's and prayers and shouts of nothing before another cry touched his lips.

Crowley tensed around him, and suddenly there was a splash of heat against their abdomens and a sharp sting against his back where nails dug a bit too deep; his head tossed back against the downy pillows, face flushed and his red lips parted, with his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes closed tightly. The sight was more than enough to throw him over the edge, his vision turning white hot, and feeling absolutely weak as he hips jolted forward a few last times before stilling completely, gasping for air and feeling deprived of it.

Gentle, soft hands, were brushing through his ruffled and abused hair when he finally came to. His limbs were shaking softly, little tremors running up and down his arms and legs once he finally settled. His vision was spot filled, with his head resting against the others - his lover? His partner? His _whatever's_ chest, hearing his erratic heartbeat and every shaky breath thereafter; his eyes were on the pale walls, following as the shadows crept across the surface and against the floor, dusting gently over the edge of the bed where the golden sunlight was still streaming in.

This was - okay.

This was definitely okay.

It was messy, and unsure, and obscene in most cases, but it was still okay. Nothing was ever clean cut or written out in bold print, because that's not what being in a relationship was about; there's admitting it, for one-- and after that whole experience, it was rather difficult to say that there's nothing going on, when _something_ is certainly happening between them. It was imperfect and flawed and maybe that's why he liked it so much. Second of all, it felt exhilarating.

There was a sort of thrill behind it that made him jumpy, and nervous, and anxious in ways he hadn't felt in years. It made him on edge and unsure but warm and certain and with a kind of floating calm that surrounded it all in a bow. A subtle comfort that was fluttering and lingering all the same, and it-

It sort of felt like coming home.

And if there was any other way to put it, Bobby might not be able to word it any better than that.

The fingers in his hair brushed along his scalp, feeling peppered, gentle kisses along his forehead and hair. Crowley carefully brushed back the strands clinging to his sweaty skin and placed soft kisses in their wake. Even after all that, Crowley was still able to make the hunters chest flutter at his touch, and Bobby didn't believe for a second that it was right for any one person to have that much power over another.

The fingers in his unruly hair brushed over his ears and down to his jaw, curling and uncurling through the strands almost as if he was trying to remember every sensation and feeling that he could. As if he were trying to memorize him like he did just about everything else. Bobby knew he'd never really know why Crowley ever bothered with him, considering how utterly different they were, with how far they contrasted-- It didn't seem to matter to the Scotsmen. Whether he never noticed or just simply didn't care, Bobby didn't know, but whatever it was, he couldn't have been more thankful.

Even if, sometimes, it scared the hell out of him.

It felt like an eternity had passed before Bobby finally built up the strength to slip out of the others body, his legs aching in protest as he fumbled to his side, disposing of the used up condom and finally getting a good look at their state. Bobby looked a bit worn for wear, and he doesn't want to even begin worrying about the state of his back, but for the most part, he seemed alright.

Crowley, on the other hand, had these angry red marks littering all up and down his sides, and his hips looked like they were going to have a few bruises visible by morning. Bobby must have been sporting an expression of alarm, for Crowley began to laugh. Sounding almost like a delicate purr at first before it began to form, deep and low, like steaming coffee, and burnt out, stale cigarettes on a cold, bitter, winter morning.

"Don't look so pinched up, love," he chuckled, "I've had worse."

Bobby winced, dragging a hand over one of the Scotsmen's sides, feeling the other press into the touch ever so slightly.

"Besides," he continued, watching the hunters hand as it moved, "you didn't do anything I didn't want you to," he smiled, "after all, I am _madly_ infatuated with you."

"That ain't an excuse," he mumbled, but Crowley caught the slight upturn on the side of the hunters stubborn lips.

Crowley hummed lowly, the sound reverberating in his throat, "Of course, love. Now, would you kindly head out into the hall and snag a rag for us?" he asked, pushing up onto his elbows with a slightly wince. Bobby nodded, looking at the other a bit guiltily, having forgotten the kind of damage he could have done elsewhere, but didn't comment as he slipped out of the others bed.

"Check out towards the second door to the right," the Scotsmen called after him, "third shelf, I believe."

Bobby hummed in response, his legs protesting as he sauntered out of the room. Crowley was right, however, they really needed something to wash up with, and a rag might not completely cover it, but it should do for now- Bobby didn't bother checking himself as he reached the door, pulling it open with little resistance as he tried to spot the rag the man was talking about. He found a few, snatching the one on the top before making his way into the washroom.

The tiles were cold on his feet as he stepped off of the mans rug, but he paid it little mind as he reached the sink and turned on the faucet, running the rag underneath the water once he was able to heat it up a bit. Bobby wiped his stomach down, cleaning it off and wringing it out before he finally made his way back into the Scotsmen's bedroom. Crowley was sitting up-right at this point, his back pressed against the headboard, and staring absently towards his window, glancing over at the hunter as he finally returned.

Bobby crawled back onto the bed, handing him the rag to clear himself off before letting the filthy thing drop off to the side of the bed and onto the floor. A pleased sigh brushed passed his lips, settling back against the mattress as if he just finished a long day of work. However, he was quick to move himself to curl up beside the hunter once Bobby had finally gotten resettled.

It reminded the hunter of when he first woke up.

On his back with an arm draped over his midsection, and a head tucked under his chin.

Jesus, what had he gotten himself into.

Well, he certainly couldn't complain about the outcome of the decision's he's made. By all accounts, this was probably the most fun and excitement he's had in a long time, and it really had been a _long_ time. His heart was still pounding wildly, and his body didn't feel like his own, but he was content, and that's a lot more than he can say about how he's been feeling for the last lifetime he's lived.

Crowley, pardon the metaphor, sort of reminded Bobby of a cardboard castle.

Which was a rather weird analogy, but it this case he supposed it made sense.

How, with what he had in this moment, would differ in the eye of the beholder.

For some, a cardboard castle would simply be that, cardboard. With jagged edges, and falling apart at the seams, having more duct tape holding it in place than actual cardboard that had been the original ingredient. All cut up and choppy, and insignificant to someone passing by-- however, to others, it was a kingdom.

How the castle would suddenly be made of stone and trimmed in gold and mountains high, with corridors and millions of rooms to discover. With people in elegant gowns and listening to fine music, all beautiful and stunning and wholesome in ways that's relatively hard to describe.

Twenty years ago, right after he lost Karen, if he were to see himself now, he'd only see the castle of cardboard, because at the time, there wasn't a soul on the earth that could ever burrow so deeply under his skin and fester like she did. There wasn't a person in the world he would have wanted to be with so badly. At the time, he didn't believe that wounds could heal, but only deepen and worsen with time; however, he know's differently now.

And looking at Crowley now, tucked under his chin and humming pleasantly, content to run his fingers over skin and make invisible patterns against his body, Bobby knew he had something that was far from being a makeshift castle of cardboard. With a whole kingdom he's yet to discover.

And with that in mind, Bobby truly did want to discover more of this kingdom laid out in front of him.

Bobby felt the need to say something, to break the silence when he heard ringing off to his right. He felt, rather than heard, the disgruntled sigh that Crowley gave off, pushing himself off of the hunter and rolling over a bit, reaching out to grab his phone off of the nightstand. He glanced down at the caller, rolling his eyes as he pushed himself up into a seated position, clicking enter as he answered the phone.

"Meg, now is really not the time-" Crowley grumbled into the receiver, but was quickly cut off by Meg on the other end.

" _Go turn on the news._ " her voice was hard and loud, loud enough for the hunter to pick up on her words as he was laying a little ways away. Crowley blinked a moment, exchanging a confused glance with the hunter.

"Why, what happe-"

" _Just, go turn on the news._ " Meg sounded strained, angry or upset, Bobby couldn't really tell but he supposed it didn't really matter when Crowley swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, with a bit of trouble, snagging his boxers off the floor and quickly slipping them on as he made his way out of the room. Bobby was right behind him, watching his unsure movements as he stepped out. Bobby quickly grabbed his own boxers of the floor, fumbling to get them on and catch up with the Scotsmen who was already in the living room.

Bobby stepped out behind him, watching the man with a curious gaze as he flipped on his television. Bobby rounded the couch, taking a seat on the armrest, keeping his eyes steady on Crowley who was standing just a few feet away from the TV, remote in hand as he flipped to the new's station; the volume was down. Bobby saw the reporter talking, but her voice was too quiet to make out what she was saying. The hunter blinked when he recognized the building behind her, just a few yards away-- the fine glass walls, littered in police tape. "Hey, isn't that-"

Crowley quickly hushed him, turning up the volume hastily because he must have noticed the building too.

Her voice was booming a moment until Crowley readjusted it, her mouth moving a million miles and hour.

" _-found dead this morning. Lilith Lovett's body, the founder of the ever famous Insurance Company, Purgatory Placements, was found in her office by a fellow co-worker in the early hours of the morning,_ " His blood turned cold. " _As of a few hours ago, we've been informed that this has been classified as a homicide, and the open investigation has been on going since the discovery. This is Keloland new's, reporting to you live, and we'll be sure to keep you updated as the days events progress. Now, back to you-_ "

The hunter blinked as the screen turned black and flickered over to a new face, his words were droned out by the blood in his ears and the voice that became defining. His eyes darting over to the Scotsmen who was- _jesus,_ words couldn't even begin to describe the expression on his face. His jaw was working but no words or sounds escaped, his breathing picked up. His brows were knitted so tightly together and his arm was shaking as he brought the phone back to his ear.

"Meg-?" his voice was hoarse, confused and drawn in and didn't in any way sound like Crowley.

" _Crowley, I need you over here,_ " she was urgent, borderline on desperate sounding, and Bobby's never heard her sound so _wrong_ before, " _right now._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I've been tripping on whether or not to put a sex scene in just yet (not to mention I've rewritten this codswallop at least 4 bleeding times)-- but I think this was as good a point as any, and I've been doing everything I could not to rush it into the story, but when you really look at it, I did wait 19 chapters, and I'm still not even half way done with my story, so - yeah.
> 
> If you couldn't tell, I'm portraying Bobby as being Demisexual. Which makes a lot of what happened incredibly important to his character and his and Crowley's relationship. Also, (writing) sex (or like.. sex in general) isn't something I've been necessarily good at (or care for), but I understood the certain things that go into it (as you can see, I prolonged it as far as I could)-- I really didn't want it being mechanical rather than emotional; and I really didn't want some deeply erotic sex scene, because it would neither give either character justice, it wouldn't make sense for my story, and it doesn't fit either character in general. It's sweet, goofy, awkward, and sincere and I think that's good for where their relationship is going.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually got around to chapter 20. Bruh. I never write long enough on a story to hit a chapter 20 so that's certainly something. Even if I'm entirely slow on updating, I do plan to go through and finish this damn thing.
> 
> Nothing to update you guys on as far as I can see- (Except on a level note, Terry Pratchett had just recently died, and so had Leonard Nimoy. Both of which were wonderful and influential people, and without them we wouldn't have had the Good Omens/Star Trek that we know-- so thank you to them, and I'm sorry to see them go.)-- so, please, enjoy. ^^

There was a certain sort of calm that had settled in the flat, like receding waves before a tsunami were to crash onto shore.

Everything seemed calm, as if in order, in place, just as it should be, but anyone with eyes could see the disaster coming before it had effectively happened and settled in. You could feel the uneasy vibrations running along the surface, and skittering in the air, like white noise filling an empty space. It felt entirely wrong, but there was nothing to show for it.

Bobby didn't say a word, refusing to break the silence because doing so would be blasphemy.

Crowley hadn't spoken either, hadn't moved, barely seemed to be breathing. He was so still, so quiet, and the hunter could tell that something about him had snapped or chipped, if not completely broken.

There was a slowness about how Crowley pulled the phone away from his ear, a subtle deliberateness about how he hung up and placed the phone face down against his coffee table. How there was a broken hesitance about how he moved, like everything was surreal and none of this existed. He looked as if he were in a dream, but seemed to snap out of it once he pushed up onto his feet.

The movement was so sudden it caused the hunter to jump slightly, as if stung. Crowley was quick on his feet, slipping out of the room and rushing to the bedroom in a blur; it took a few belated moments for Bobby to realize it happened, and was soon on his feet rushing right after him.

In the doorway Bobby paused, hand resting against the door frame and watched in his daze as the Scotsman yanked opened each of the drawers to his dresser, quickly throwing things out and tossing a few pairs of something onto the mussed up bed before moving to another drawer. Crowley was mumbling under his breath, which was erratic and his movements were chopped and shaky and the whole scene was incredibly tense and the air felt thick around them.

Bobby licked his lower lip, his jaw working but his words were nonexistent.

There wasn't anything he could say to make this any better and he knew it, but that didn't keep him from trying. He said his name, but Crowley didn't respond; maybe he didn't hear him, or maybe he just couldn't and Bobby wasn't sure which of the two was worse.

He dressed hastily- messily. His clothing was incomplete but he looked ready to bolt out the door once he got at least one sock on, and he might have, had Bobby not grabbed his arm, preventing him from leaving the room.

"Crowley."

"Robert, this is _not_ the time-"

Crowley made to move his arm out of the hunters grip, but Bobby held on. He wasn't aggressive, his grip was anything but vice, but it was enough to keep the man from leaving. 

"Crowley you need to calm down," Bobby urged gently, but the Scotsman wouldn't even look up at him, his eyes shifting about the room, brows knitted and Bobby could feel the shudders in the others arm, "you can barely dress yourself, how can I live with myself if I let you out on the road-"

"How _dare_ you, I don't need your _bloody_ permission-" Crowley tried dislodging him again, but his efforts were fruitless, it was almost as if he wasn't even trying.

"I never said you did," Bobby breathed, "but just look at yourself, you're in no place to be driving just yet, jus-" he paused, "just, take a deep breath, can you do that?" Crowley glared at him, yet the hunter persisted; Bobby eventually felt the last of the other's struggles, and even a faint slouch in the other's arm before complying, making a show to breathe in obscenely deep in spite of the hunter before puffing it back out. His breaths were a bit shaky at first, wavering as if cold but eventually began to even out, even when he looked up at the hunter in something that can almost be seen as annoyed, and could almost be seen as apologetic as he continued.

"There we go," the hunter murmured, and there was a moment where the shorter of the two downcast his eyes before he slipped forward, resting his forehead against the taller man's shoulder which startled the hunter briefly, due to the sudden change in attitude, but it allowed Bobby to slip his arms around him rather than hold him in place. Bobby could feel the slump in his frame, and feel the nerves rushing along his body as he tried to calm himself down. Warm hands gripped at his sides, before a shuddered breath passed his lips; Bobby sighed softly, leaning down to press his lips against the mans hair who then moved to look up at him.

His face was.. contorted. A mixture of distress and hopelessness and disbelief and Bobby felt just downright awful, even if this wasn't of his own doing. He lifted his hand to brush back the others unruly hair before thinking better of it, letting his hand fall to the others shoulder instead before sighing.

"Better?"

Crowley chewed the inside of his cheek before shrugging, giving the hunter a small seemingly nonchalant nod, but kept his eyes elsewhere. Crowley didn't look quite right, but he also didn't remotely look as if he was going to cry either- however, something about how he moved certainly gave that exact saddened vibe as one would expect from someone in mourning. Bobby didn't recognize it as the same way a person would act, had they been _close_ to this individual, but rather in the way where they were put off by the fact that death was a very real aspect of life and they had almost forgotten that it's coming around for everyone. Crowley looked more put-off and worried, more than he looked upset and saddened but Bobby tried not to hurt himself figuring out why.

"C'mon," he hummed, lowering his voice, "take a few minutes and go grab a shower, alright?" Crowley blinked at him, to which Bobby just rolled his eyes, "You're a mess, and I'm not even going to try and explain that you're supposed to _shower_ after, erm-" he faltered, and for a moment, a small, almost unnoticeable smile cracked along the Scotsman's lips.

"You mean after sex, you big prude," he teased lightly, offhandedly as he pushed himself on his toes to press a kiss against the side of the hunters mouth before dropping back down, sighing, "you're right, however," he murmured, fingers slipping up towards the collar of the hunters shirt and fluttering over to his shoulders, "I _am_ rather filthy and I shouldn't be showing up to work looking as if I've just gotten robbed." Crowley slipped his hands to his face, rubbing the palms on his cheek's before letting them fall down to his sides.

"Good," Bobby tried not to sound as relieved as he felt, letting his hands slip from the others sides, "I'll make you some coffee, and just.. take a few minutes to yourself before leaving, alright?" Crowley nodded, but didn't respond verbally, moving away from the hunter as he made his way into the washroom, closing the door behind him without a word.

Once the door was shut, and Bobby was out of view, Crowley reached almost blindly to his sink, stumbling as he made to grip the sides to steady himself. His head hung, and he simply stood there for a few minutes, letting the seconds tick on by as he counted them out in his head, to get some sort of baring on himself. His knee's felt weak, with tremors rushing along his arms and shoulders, his whole body quaking and it made his feel utterly indisposed. Crowley could feel his mind churning, like rusted gears grinding as he tried to think properly, but everything felt too fuzzy and nothing made any sense.

With a heavy gaze he glanced up to see his reflection in his sink mirror, but let his eyes fall back down to where his hands were gripping the edges of the tile like a vise. His knuckles were white and his arms were shaking ever so slightly; he opted to recollected himself by trying to think of the morning, before the news and before the call, and certainly before he got out of bed. He tried thinking of the warm body beside him, and the sound of anything, and his soft blanket over clean sheets, and Crowley tried to remember to breathe.

With one last shuddering breath Crowley built up enough of his nerves to strip out of the mess he had on, gently folding each article individually and setting them on the surface beside the sink. Taking his time with each article, paying close attention to his hands and concentrating on his movements. Slow and deliberate as he shimmied out of his boxers, plucking off his socks and laying them out; looking at himself in the mirror, he looked much the same as he always did, but when he turned around, he could see the angry red marks littering his back, causing himself to chuckle soundlessly in spite of himself; that was certainly real.

This whole bloody morning was real, and he was struggling to wrap his mind around it.

First, he thought, as he turned on the faucet to his shower, tampering with the water; first, he woke up, having slept in longer than he had intended to, but it was his break off of work, and he saw no harm in doing so-- The sheet's felt cool as he had shifted and warm where he laid, and the blankets were so soft and his pillow he missed. He hadn't slept in for a long, long time. Always too busy, having to get up early for work, only to get off late, and recently with everything going on, he would have been so _lucky_ to get at _least_ three or so hours a night before he was up and out once again. So he slept in, enjoying the fact that his alarm wasn't buzzing and the mattress was his own.

Secondly, he continued, placing his hand under the water, testing the temperature; secondly he woke up and there was someone beside him. He remembers waking up two or three times that night, continuously thinking that he had to get up for work, only to remember he didn't _have_ work and could simply drift off once again. But waking up besides someone else, well, that certainly hadn't happened in years and he was in so much awe at the whole notion, that he ended up scooting up in the middle of the night just so he could rest his head against the others chest and hear their heartbeat-- to reassure himself that he wasn't dreaming. He hadn't intended to drift off again, and wake up that way, but it happened and what ensued afterwards wasn't something he could complain about.

Thirdly was just.. every minute this morning with those rough hands running all over him, and those gentle lips he's thought about so many times were just running along his-- Crowley bit down on his lower lip, shifting himself before moving to step under the spray.

"Ah, fuck," he cursed, wincing when the warm water ran down his back-- hissing as he stood still, trying to let himself get used to the sting. His breath turned shallow as he bit down on his lip, shifting slowly from foot to foot until he was able to lift his arms to grab his hair shampoo; pouring a bit onto the palm of his hand and spreading it out with his other, taking moment before he lathered it into his water-matted hair and began running his hands through.

He spent a bit longer under the warm water than he had originally wanted; his mind wandering and thoughts fluttering and he was having a hard time concentrating onto one individual thing.

He kept thinking of Bobby; of how he looked with his hair all tussed up and how flushed his cheeks were and how gentle he was when he grabbed him. He thought of all his sounds and curses, and just how shy he was too. Crowley could still feel his hands on him, still feel them gripping his hips and dragging rough against his back, and Crowley could still feel the lingering of the hunters lips and the puff of his warm breath against his skin.

 _Everything_ about him was everything he could have hoped for, and today was supposed to be a good day. They were supposed to lay in bed for hours and maybe get up half-past noon and order in, so they could just lounge about. At least until Bobby had to go home, they were supposed to do nothing all day. And that's what Crowley wanted to do; absolutely nothing all day.

That's to say that he wasn't expecting Lilith to die.

He still had terrible jet lag from returning the night before, he was still tired of course, and he just wanted to spend time with the man he really wanted to get to know- in every possible way imaginable, but he knew that wasn't going to happen now. Of course not, nothing ever did go as it was supposed to, nothing ever goes as planned.

Crowley then thought about Lilith, reminding himself that it's incredibly selfish to be resenting her for dying, as he leaned back and rinsed out his hair that had been untouched since the far beginning of the shower, the soap slowly trying to dry. He thought about her as a person, and what could have caused this. He tried remembering her face, and her soft but sharp voice, and how it sounded like warm milk pouring and chocolate melting, and how her face could light up a room with how broadly she smiled.

Crowley tried remembering all of her good aspects, feeling the soap running down his shoulders and back and slipping down his thighs, how she would go out of her way to help others. How she had saved Ruby from her addiction, and kept himself steady on his feet, even after the bitter bits of his career that had held him down in the past. He owed her his job, he owed everything to her, really. He wouldn't be where he was if it wasn't for her guidance, and he just couldn't imagine why someone would just.. would just _murder_ her.

Lilith was an odd women, that was for sure, but not so much to spike a murder. She was a bit unreasonable, and sometimes she didn't explain things very clearly, and she was certainly a bit sharp when things got a little close to home, but she was a genuine person. Crowley's mind trailed to all her odd little habits-- like her extensive meetings that never involved him, or how she would send him and a few choice others out of the building. Her behaviour was strange, at most, but nothing that was really all that notable. He's worked with Lilith for years, and that was just simply how she acted-- he never really thought twice about it.

Lilith was... well, just Lilith. There would never be a set way to describe how she acted, because she was honestly a bit unpredictable in her ways. She would be rushing around the building one week, making sure everything was working in line, checking up with her workers and chatting along in the break room; and other week's she'll lock herself away in her office, hide in there until the break of dawn, and even then Crowley would barely hear a peep.

And now she was just.. she was just _gone_.

Oh god, she wasn't even _here_ anymore.

Crowley was getting ready, to head to a place, where she would no longer be showing up to, to a room where she just _died_.

Lilith is _dead_.

Crowley was having such a hard time wrapping his mind around it. Lilith couldn't die, she was _Lilith_. He's known this woman for _years_ , how could she possibly be dead? This strong willed, bright, tough skinned woman? Of all people, it was her, and he couldn't believe it for a second. Even with the news, even with the call from Meg, it was just-- inconceivable that something so horrific could have happened to her.

He wondered how it happened, he wondered why and with whom.

But most of all, he wondered what was going to happen now.

Crowley scrubbed his body down a few times for good measure, to help his jittering nerves before he turned off the faucet, reaching out blindly behind the curtains to grab his towel and dry off. His fingers brushed against the soft fabric hanging nearby, wrapping his fingers around it and giving it a gentle tug to bring it inside of the shower with him; he patted down his face before making to dry out his hair, stepping out of the shower once he was mostly finished and dropping the towel to the floor to step on.

He took his time dressing, making sure every movement was deliberate and every adjustment was how it should be. His hair was still a bit damp, but just allowed himself to brush it down using his fingers before quickly brushing his teeth.

Overall, he had only been in there for a little while, and when he stepped out and the cool air of his apartment brushed over him, the cold reality of what he was about to go do struck him. The whole ordeal weighed heavily in his chest, and made thinking difficult. Bobby took notice of him almost immediately as he stepped out of the washroom, and the poor dear smiled at him sadly, but it was reassuring all the same.

He was holding one of his silver Thermos coffee cups in his hand, turning the lid to a proper close. He had put on a shirt and some pants, but his attempt at dressing was half-assed and Crowley couldn't help but smile faintly at him. Crowley made his way to the door, snagging his shoes off of the ground before slipping his way back to his kitchen, sliding out one of his tall stools to slip onto, setting a shoe on the table as he unknotted the one in his hand.

"How're you feelin'?" Bobby asked, and his voice was smooth and careful, and Crowley wanted nothing more than to just stay here all day with him, but he knew he had to do this; it was important, and after everything, Bobby would understand.

"Okay," he answered, even though it was a complete lie. He was certain Bobby knew it, but the hunter never pressed, and he couldn't have been more thankful. "could be worse," he breathed, "it could have been a massacre, rather than a homicide."

"That's true," the hunter responded a bit slowly, recognizing the tone, and not making an effort to question, "but still, it ain't right what happened."

"No," Crowley said, shaking his head as he slipped his shoe on, tying it with deft fingers before letting his foot slip off of the stool and grabbing the next, "you're right." And when he didn't continue, Bobby didn't speak back up, mostly because Crowley figured, he didn't know how to. Hell, he wasn't quite sure himself, and simply continued putting on his shoes in silence, before slipping off of his seat.

Bobby took that as is cue to round the table, Crowley's Thermos in hand and giving it to him after the Scotsman slipped on his jacket, to which he pressed up and placed another kiss against his mouth as a sort of goodbye. They stood like that for maybe a couple of seconds before Crowley made to part, squeezing the hunters arm.

"I'll be back in a little bit, okay?" Crowley murmured as he adjusted his tie, "feel free to stay if you'd like, and if not-" he chewed his lip, "I'll uhm, come find you."

"Sounds good to me," the hunter replied, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, "and uh, are you sure you're okay?"

Crowley nodded after a moment, "Yes, of course, I'll be fine," he breathed, "bad things happen all the time, and although I'm rather upset about the whole ordeal, it's wasn't.. I hate to say this, truly, but it isn't a real personal loss, you know?" Bobby blinked at him, as if waiting for him to elaborate, to which the Scotsman murmured, "Real loss only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself, and although I hate to see her go, I feel rather.. I don't know- distant, from the whole thing. I feel wrong, but I'm not.. I'm not deeply affected by it all."

The Scotsman averted his eyes from the hunter before frowning, "does that make me a bad person? Or did that not even make a lick of sense."

"No, I think I get what you mean," Bobby replied, "and no, I don't think that makes you a bad person. Honestly? I'm sure you're not the only one."

"But I _knew_ her," Crowley insisted, with a vacant wave of his arm, "we've talked before, worked together, and yet I feel as if I had only heard about a strangers death, rather than a close partners."

"Maybe that's just how you cope with loss," there was a weak chuckle in the back of the shorter man's throat.

"No, I don't think that's it," he said, looking down at the cup in his hands, "I don't know."

"Don't worry about it," Bobby replied carefully, inclining his head towards the Scotsman, "maybe you just you're just trying to find a way to deal with it, could be anythin'," the hunter shrugged, "just, let me know, okay?"

"Of course, love," Crowley gave him a weak smile, "I'll be back soon."

And with that, he made his leave, making sure to close the door carefully behind himself before making the hasty trudge down the hall. His footsteps thudded gently in the quiet corridor, the hallway he traveled down seemed longer than he remembered it; felt like it was stretching away from him and the elevator was just so far away. It didn't take long to get there, but it honestly felt longer than usual. Crowley realized that his own speed was lacking, that he was moving slowly, and, with a shake of his head, he picked up the pace. His hand brushing as he pushed the cold metallic button to call the door, and he waited impatiently for it to arrive.

And then there was the silence, it was a stretch that was filled with soft buzzing as the elevator rose to his level, or sunk- he couldn't tell. He was jittery as he tapped his fingers against his hip in an old nervous habit, flinching ever so softly once the elevator dinged and for some reason he couldn't remember it being so _loud_ before; the doors parted with a popping creek he's never noticed and he slipped inside the empty container. Crowley moved wearily, pressing the button and feeling weak in the knee's once the doors slid shut.

He could feel everything; from the elevator lowering, to his quickened heart beat, and the tremours running along his arms and legs. His hands gripped his mug carefully between his palms, licking his lips and once again flinching as the elevator stopped. The doors seemed to take a few years to decide whether or not they were going to open, eventually sliding obscenely loudly -have they always done that?- and allowing him to step out.

The lobby had a few people inside, and there as a man sitting at the desk this morning, rather than the girl-- morning shift, he assumed, but he's never seen him before. Crowley sidestepped a couple and a few kids on his way out, paying them no mind as he pushed a shaky hand against the frost bitten glass door and pushed himself out into the cold bitter morning. He saw his breath puff out in front of his eyes in the bitter cold, watched as it evaporated from white mist into nothing, blowing away. Crowley shivered slightly, but made his way quickly to his car; the handle freezing when he touched it, and making quick work as he unlocked the vehicle.

Inside was no better, the seats feeling like dry ice as he fumbled to get the ignition going, his hands shaking from something outside of the cold.

Lilith was dead.

Lilith was _dead_.

And he, Crowley "Fergus" McLeod, King of the Crossroads, Co-CEO of Purgatory Placements, was about to head over to his job; his job which he had been working at for twenty some years, to talk to a bunch of police and detectives, about Lilith.

Because she was dead.

The Scotsman felt a lump in his throat, his hand pausing before he could even get the key's to turn. It was just so bloody _surreal_ and unimaginable-- her death was so utterly inconceivable Crowley honestly didn't believe it. Well, he believed she was dead, he knew it, but he _didn't_ either. As if the cogs in his brain were stuck, and the gears were grinding and struggling to turn properly, which was preventing him from wrapping his mind around the mess.

It simply felt unreal.

He shivered involuntarily, looking up towards his building before sighing.

Today was supposed to be a good day.

With a weary shudder, Crowley pulled his car into gear, and pulled out of his parking lot. He moved smoothly enough, the light outside feeling a bit blinding as he pulled out of the long casting shadow his building splayed across the lot, squinting out at the snow covered sidewalks and the busy street's.

It didn't take much driving to start seeing the red and blue lights flashing off of the sides of buildings just a few miles off of his work. They weren't letting many people by, it seemed, averting traffic along to separate roads to prevent people from getting too close; Crowley's heart sank as he pulled close enough to talk to the poor freezing sod on the side of the road; wearing his flashing yellow's and orange mittens, with his nose just a bit too red to be safe. Crowley could see he was frustrated, and the Scotsman would have been too if he had to stand out in the freezing morning, but he let him through surely enough before stepping back in the way once he had drove on through.

He had to slow down as he neared, spotting the glass building after a few miles stretch of brick and stone.

The yellow police tape stretched out all across all entree ways besides the main one, where a few police cars were sliding on through. A few glances were shot his way, and before he could enter, a cop stopped him, waving his hands wildly in the air, shouting something at him that sounded remotely like _stop_.

Crowley pulled his car to a halt, which wasn't difficult because honestly, he wasn't driving more than 3 miles an hour by the time he got close enough; not with all these people flocked over the street's, many of them he recognized as workers from the building that must have been evacuated.

The officer that stopped him, plump and red faced, jogged briskly up to the car, tapping on the window to which Crowley rolled down.

"Sir, this place is restricted," he began, his voice a weak tired waver, falling out of flushed puffy cheeks as he spoke, "I'm going to have to ask you to turn around and head back to-"

"Officer," Crowley sharply cut him off with a harsh snap, coming off a bit more cruelly than he had intended, as he slumped back into his seat and brought his hands to his face in his moment of frustration. He sighed as he let his hands fall back to his wheel, looking up at the round man with severe irritation, "save your bloody speech for someone who might listen, yeah?"

The officer looked at him with astonishment, his cheek's flushing a darker shade of red and Crowley couldn't decide if it was due to anger or embarrassment, "Sir, I will not ask you again-"

"Crowley!" when the Scotsman upturned his head, so did the officer, watching as Meg jogged up towards the car, brushing the police worker away with a wave of her hand, looking at the round man shifting against the other's car. "Let him through," she said, and when the officer looked ready to protest she held up her hand to stop him, "look, if anyone can help you with this, it's him, okay?"

The officer actually scoffed, "look, ma'am," he said with something that Crowley would maybe call diction, and maybe call cockiness, but would surely call rude, "I know you wouldn't understand these sorts of matters, but I _do not_ take requests from civilians. Besides," he snorted indignantly, "We don't need some damn British pansy to help us out. He wasn't here to begin with, what could he possibly know?" he stated gruffly, tapping his meaty fingers against his belt, shifting so his chest was slightly puffed out, as if it would make him look more confident. "This is a police investigation, and under my jurisdiction, he is _not_ entering that building."

Crowley was about ready to slam this bastards head against his windshield, when he heard Meg growl at him.

The soft look that Meg was wearing before was so quickly replaced with one of venom that it actually gave both men pause, her features turning grim and cruel as a snarl formed on her lips.

"Guess what, _fuckhead_ ," she hissed, setting her shoulders in a way that spoke volumes of the damage she was ready to make if given the chance, "preventing _any sort_ of _wit_ ness to a crime to come _forward_ and tell their part is hampering your _fucking_ investigation," Meg spat, bearing her teeth in a violent scowl, "and telling civilians to basically fuck off is unethical, and if you don't lose your badge because of that," she stomped forward slightly, stopping a few feet away with an abrupt stop, "you can lose your petty badge because this _"British pansy"_ -" she jerkily did finger quotations in the air, making it look as if she was tearing the open space a new one, "owns this fucking company now."

Crowley's hands tightened around the wheel.

Meg slithered forward, almost like a snake and it caused the man to flinch back, looking between the car and her shoes as she stomped to be only inches away from him. She growled, hissing low, "Just remember, cupcake, that your place is _below me_ , so you can shove that jurisdiction _up your ass_."

The officer never apologized, just looked between her shoes and the car almost dumbfoundedly before moving off. Meg's mouth quirked, but not into a smile, setting her jaw. Without a word, she moved around the Scotsman's car and slid into the passenger seat, not buckling or making much of a sound before Crowley pushed his car into gear and drove up into the main lot of the building.

Crowley stayed slow and deliberate, not looking at much of anything but whatever happened to be in front of him at that very moment. He slid his car into his parking spot, before gingerly killing the engine.

And they sat there in silence for a few lasting moments.

Like there was nothing either one of them could possible say in order to make this all feel less real. Meg was the first to move, and at first he thought she was leaving as she pushed open the door and moved out, but she didn't close it behind herself; Crowley looked after her until she moved out of his line of sight. It was only a moment later when his own door was open, and two quick hands unfastened his seat-belt then grabbed him by his arm and pulled him out of his seat. Crowley stumbled for a second, quickly catching himself as a head buried its way against his chest, and two very strong arms wrapped around his middle.

With a heavy sigh, he slid his hands against her back, rubbing up and down to calm her when he felt the soft shudder in her shoulders, and the weak shake in her frame. All Crowley could do was swallow down the lump in his throat, but even _that_ became utterly difficult when he heard the soft break in her breath as she tried to breathe in.

Meg's held her own for a long time, and honestly, besides Lilith, she was one of the strongest women he knew; and he knew some _strong_ women. Crowley could physically _feel_ her struggling to pull herself together, as she tried to stifle her sobs, and Crowley was doing everything in his power to do the same.

"I love you," he heard her muffle against his suit's shoulder, "I love you, and I love Ruby and those fuckers Alastair and Azazel," Meg leaned back slightly, letting one arm move to wipe at her eyes as she might have been doing all morning, seeing as puffy they were, her makeup long gone some while ago. Her cheeks were flushed and her lower lip quivered as she tried biting down on it to make it stop, "I love you assholes so fucking much, and I loved.. I loved Lilith, and I just-"

"It's okay," and Crowley couldn't deny the fact that maybe his voiced wavered a bit, but he was doing his damnedest to keep it under his control, but Meg's face was just so contorted in hurt. She was taking this much harder than he thought she was.

"No, it's not fucking _okay_ ," she bit out, and that's what she did. She hid her sadness with anger, because she hated to cry more than she hated much of anything else. Crowley didn't really know why that was, because he knew that she didn't think it made her weak; but he can imagine she didn't like how it made her feel, didn't like how irrational it was because Meg was anything but. She was steady and complete; a consistency. Sadness was inconsistent, so she hated it.

"I don't know what we're going to do," she gritted out, pulling back from him and dragging her hand across the shoulder her head had been resting on, brushing her fingers over the wet spots and frowning, "The committee's upstairs, and they've been.. they've all been quiet. Alastair is having a hard time processing it, and hadn't spoken much."

Crowley quirked his lips a bit, pressing them together but never smiling. He chewed the inside of his cheek, swallowing before glancing over to the building.

The windows reflected the sky as if they were made of mirrors, reflecting in grey's and oranges and it no longer looked right doing that. The whole building looked wrong, even if nothing about it's physical appearance had changed. The Scotsman turned to look back at Meg, who looked right back.

"Who.." Crowley paused, tapping his fingers against his hip, "who found her?"

Meg sighed, "Alastair," she leaned back to glance over her shoulder to an ambulance sitting on the far edge of the lot; the back doors were open, but nobody was inside, with a few officers converting a little bit away. "He won't say much about it," she went on, tone slow, "but I do know that they had a conference planned for the morning, and the place beside her desk was skittered in those papers. He uhm," she licked her wind-burned upper lip, "he say's he didn't mean to drop them, but lost control in his surprise. They brought him down for questioning, gave him a silly shock blanket to sit with but he mostly just wanted to go home."

"And where's he now?"

"Upstairs," she frowned, "they won't let him leave, so he's up with the rest of the committee," she glanced away from the officers, and looked around a moment before moving her eyes to rest on his face; there was something..- something _pleading_ there, something upset.

"Crowley," and her voice got tight, chopped up towards the end, "I think they think Alastair did it," she swiped the back of her hand against her cheek and mouth, eyes flicking over to the cops a little ways away, "I think they actually _believe_ he could do something like that, but-" and she didn't so much as falter or pause, but rather stopped talking altogether because she wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to go on.

Crowley squinted his eyes at her, and she narrowed her own back at him. There was no way to _threaten_ her, no way to get her to talk unless she decided to, and today seemed to be just one of those days where she needed to get something off of her chest, because her narrowed eyes opened up and the snarl on her lips relaxed into a quirked frown once again.

"I..-" she stopped, opened her mouth once before closing it again, repeating the action two or three times before sounds began to form. Eventually she gave a heavy shuddering sigh and let her shoulders slouch, waving her arms in incohesive circles, like she had her thoughts there with her, but they weren't quite together. "I, I don't..- look I don't know _anything_ alright? Nothing solid, and nothing for certain, but I really- it wasn't Alastair. I _know_ it wasn't Alastiar," she urged, pausing her hands, "number one, he could _never_ do something like that. Yeah, he's got a bit of a messed up work ethic, but he'd never _kill_ someone."

Meg looked up at him, keeping her eyes trained on his face because if she looked away she feared she'd lose her train of thought.

"Alastair's got too much to lose to be so goddamn careless, even if he had, for whatever reason, actually _want_ Lilith dead," she went on, "and just.. the look on his face."

Crowley watched her shoulders fall gently, as if there was a weight there holding them down.

"These bureaucratic types are more interested in the story than the actual murder," she muttered, "just look at them. They're not _trying_ hard enough. They're not even trying to _not_ make it obvious they're trying to pin it on Al, like, _really,_ they pick the tall solemn looking man and pin him as the murderer because of the goddamn _'look'_ in his fucking eye." Meg wasn't even _trying_ to be subtle about her distaste, running her chilled fingers through her hair and pushing it out of her face. It was then Crowley seemed to notice that she wasn't even wearing a coat, seeing the soft shutters in her arms and torso.

Crowley shivered, forgetting the issue at hand as he remembered the cold, nodding to her as he rounded his car to snag his keys and shut the doors. Meg reached inside and grabbed his Thermos mug before shutting the drivers door, taking a sip as Crowley pocketed his keys and shoved his freezing hands into his coat pockets.

Meg made an obscene humming moan as they were moving towards the entrance of the building, where it was warmer, and Crowley shot her a look. Meg's brows were furrowed but she was nodding, her cheek's puffed slightly as she swallowed, dropping her eyes to the silver mug, "This is good," she hummed appreciatively, "I didn't know you liked coffee in the morning."

Crowley softly shook his head, reaching a hand out of his pocket to push open the clear glass door towards the building, stepping aside as a few people stepped out. Meg slid inside before him and a nice blast of warmth rushed over them; Meg took another sip of the mug, cradling it between her near frost-bitten palms. Her nose was a deep red, along with her ears and cheeks and Crowley vaguely wondered how long she had been outside.

"I don't usually," he mumbled in response, "s'been a bit of a crazy morning."

Meg nodded slowly, tapping her fingers against the mug inconsistently. There seemed a bit of a ' _don't I know it_ ' somewhere in there, but she never said a word.

With a slight tilt of her head, she inclined it towards the elevator, shrugging one arm in a way of gesture for the Scotsman to follow along. Crowley followed without question, watching as she slipped past a few workers muttering amongst themselves; sliding along with a slight trudge in her step before pressing the call button. This one was much more silent than the one in his building, he realized absently, or perhaps the room was just loud enough for him not to hear it.

Meg glanced at him a few times before looking back to the closed metallic doors, shifting on her feet until it softly dinged as the doors spread apart. It looked empty, as Crowley stepped inside with Meg on his heels, who promptly hit the floor button to where the committee was being held, before stepping back. The doors slid shut soundlessly, and soon they began to slowly rise.

Meg looked unsteady, but Crowley already knew she was having a hard time and didn't want to push it; but, however, she looked like there was something she wanted to say, but was keeping herself from doing so. It didn't take long before her hand reached forward and pressed the _Emergency Stop_ button towards the panel, and the elevator became overcast in a dark red light as they came to a very sudden halt.

Crowley stumbled slightly but caught himself, he doubted Meg even noticed.

"Meg?"

"Okay, I know," she rushed, "I know I should have said something earlier, but there were too many people around and too many ears and Crowley, really, I don't want to raise any red flags because I don't actually _know_ what the fuck it means, but I need you to listen to me because I can't stop thinking about it."

Her voice was rushed, and her eyes were narrowed but they looked more concerned rather than frustrated and the look in them was far more pleading than malicious.

Crowley was quiet, reaching his hand back to touch the back wall of the elevator before moving to promptly lean on it. "Go on, darling."

Meg took a short breath, fingering the side of the mug in her hands and turning to lean against the opposite wall of Crowley. She fidgeted for a moment before stopping herself, setting her shoulders as she placed the Thermos by her heel.

"Look," she began, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I don't want to point fingers, and there's a lot goin' on right now, for- for _everyone_. We've all been a bit stressed, and with the recent expansion of Purgatory, I know they've been pretty rough on you too. I should know, anyways, we've been working together for some time," she looked at him sadly, her expression pinched and he knew she was still trying to keep a cap on herself. "With the recent promotions, there's been a lot of tension, and everything's been pretty chaotic..- especially after you left."

Crowley didn't move, didn't say anything, so Meg continued on with a bit of trepidation. "Abaddon's been hounding Lilith about getting your job," she began slowly, "I know she has because she wouldn't stop bringing it up, kept pestering her about getting you demoted because she felt like she could do your job better. Lilith wasn't having any of it, and kept sending her away, told her that her skills were needed elsewhere while yours were needed right there, but she kept _persisting_. Or so, that's what Ruby told me anyways-- I'm rarely on the top level unless you're up there," and she gave a sort of downcasted shrug that said _but you already knew that_.

"She, ahm, she's been causing a pretty big fuss about it. Not sure _why_ though, it's not like you get paid much more than she does, and she _hates_ paperwork, and that's really all you do," Meg pushed her tongue against the back of her teeth, licking her lips in thought, "anyways, she'd been taking it out on her sector, Ruby included and just-" she paused, finally making an effort to glance up at him instead of on the floor between them, uplifting her head to get a better look at him.

"Ruby hasn't.. she's been doing pretty bad, boss," _Boss_ , Meg rarely calls him boss, "Abaddon's been giving her hell and Ruby's been taking more and more time away from her station and in Lilith's office, and when she leave's she just looks so-" Meg waved her hands in front of her, with her fingers spread out and curled in as she tried to find the words that could even somewhat explain what she wanted to say, "she's.. Ruby isn't in a good place right now, and hadn't been for some time. Won't talk to me about it, won't say much of anything actually, and these last few days she's been so fucked up-- an..- and yesterday she was just so _angry_ \-- I've just, I've never seen her so upset before."

"And," she gave a slight pause, eyes shifting away for a moment, "this morning, she didn't.. she wasn't at her station. As far as I know, Ruby didn't even show up for work."

Crowley watched her a moment, taking a long moment before his brows began to slowly knit together. "Meg, what are you implying?"

"You know what I'm implying," she said, "I'm not.. this isn't exactly me accusing her, though. She could very well be home sick, or taking a few days to herself because _God know's_ she need's it, but she hadn't called in and she hasn't even texted me back and I just- I really don't know," Meg brushed her fingers back through her hair, pushing a few strands from her face, "personally, I don't think she has a violent bone in her body, and I just didn't want to bring it up to the police because after that it won't matter if she's innocent or guilty. They've no idea who did it, and anyone someone points _a finger_ at they'll take in a heartbeat, because their systems are all fucked and I just.. I can't do that to her."

Crowley scanned his eyes over her face, his gaze almost unwavering until he glanced towards the doors once again. He was quiet, still, as he tried to get his thoughts in order.

"Why," he began, "why are you telling me all this?" Crowley lifted his hands to rub at the sides of his face, wiping them downward as if that could kill the tension settling there. "I could be a liability, you know."

Meg sighed, she's been doing quite a bit of that, but honestly she wasn't the only one.

"Because outside of this fucking job, we're friends," she muttered with harsh diction, "because you and Ruby were close too. Because she's in a tight spot, and as _friends_ ," she emphasized, "it's important that she get's the help she need's, and if she did.. if she did this, I-" Meg didn't finish that thought, and Crowley couldn't quite decide if she simply lost the thought or couldn't bring herself to say it, instead she shifted gears, tilting her head up at the Scotsman.

"Not to mention, it's company policy to keep the head of the organization in the loop with any important matters involving the members of the company," Meg drawled, crossing her arms across her torso, "Lilith is dead, Crowley," she said softly, "she has no family in her so called "Will" besides her son, whose still too young to even go to school just yet and as of this afternoon, is being set off to her distant family somewhere over seas," Meg pushed up from her spot, "She has no husband, no close family, and no corporate partners- besides you."

"That doesn't mean-"

"Yes, it does."

"No!" he snapped, "That doesn't mean.. that doesn't mean _anything_ , Meg, I do not suddenly just- _own Purgatory_ , because of this." Crowley shouted incredulously. He's not _equipped_ to do that, he's not prepared and she didn't give any indication _ever_ that he would take control. There were papers that had to be signed, there were meetings and schedules and training to take over, there was _so much_ that went into handing something this absolutely bloody _huge_ that there's no way it'd be as simple as a death.

But Meg was looking at him, almost sadly as she shook her head almost softly.

"I don't know what to tell you, boss," she pushed on, shifting to her foot, "Lilith dying wasn't planned, and the only person qualified for her seat is you, as of right now. That's what the committee is going to be discussing, I'm sure," she leaned down and grabbed Crowley's Thermos cup, pursuing her chapped lips before licking her lower. "Azazel and I were talking about it a little bit before I called you."

"Meg, you don't understand, I _can't_ -!"

"No you _can_." Meg snapped, "I _know_ you can, because, unless you forgot, I've been working with you for literally _years_ , and trust me, yes you can. You're King of the Crossroads for a reason, and now you own the whole pit," she brought the mug back to her lips taking another drink from the Scotsman's mug, puffing out a soft breath, "Alastair and Azazel plan to debrief you a bit and help you learn some of the ropes, Abaddon probably plans to bitch and moan while Metatron prays to his filth deity under his breath, but they can't fight you, because after this next week, you'll have full ropes."

Crowley honestly didn't know what to say about that, or really what he could say. Meg didn't know everything, but she seemed to know more than enough; she walked forward, holding out his mug to him.

"Come on then, drink your stupid coffee and take a deep breath," Crowley reached forward and took a hold of the mug as Meg let it slip from her fingers. It felt warm against his palms which honestly felt nice against his cold hands; he leaned his face forward and took a timid sip. It burned his tongue a bit, but it wasn't very harsh and was quickly rewarded with the sweetness of it it.

Like cinnamon and nutmeg and vanilla on his tongue, he was rather surprised by it. He took another drink before nodding to his colleague and friend, "you're right," he hummed, "this is delicious."

"Well, you made it. I figured you already knew that."

"I didn't," Crowley shook his head, "I never make coffee in the morning."

"Oh?"

The Scotsman pressed his lips together in a tight line, making a nonchalant gesture with his hand. He's talked to Meg a thousand times; she knew most everything, because he trusted her enough to divulge, and she always listened. Meg was stable, even when she wasn't. Besides, they needed a slight topic change so he could perhaps gain his barrings.

"Of course," he breathed, "Robert, he uhm," Crowley made to swallow, "he uhm, he made it."

Meg seemed to give pause, looking him over. "Robert, as in Bobby?" She said slowly, leaning back on one heel, and shifting from her hip, "Like, Bobby Singer? The Unicorn?"

"He's not a bloody unicorn."

Meg fiddled with her hands, "Eh, technicalities," she replied, "so, he just- made you coffee? Did you call him?"

"Last night, actually," he said, "It was terribly late and I had finally gotten back to America. I ended up getting on a later flight than intended, and gave him a call. He offered uhm, he offered to buy me dinner," Crowley gave a weak chuckle, bringing the mug back to his lips, "it was all rather sweet."

Meg, despite herself, smiled a faint little smile that upturned the edges of her lips gently, but outside of that said nothing. Crowley went to take another sip of the coffee before pushing off of the wall to stand, abet unsteadily, on his feet. Meg looked about ready to press the _Emergency Stop_ button once again, so that they could head to their meeting, before Crowley stopped her, placing his palm over her hand and pulling it away. Meg raised a brow at him but didn't make a move to press it again.

"I need to know," Crowley began, "who all do they believe did this? How many are they accusing?" _They_ as in the system, the police and the workers of Purgatory. Meg knew exactly what he meant before giving him a sharp shrug.

"Dunno," she answered, "I know they've got their suspicions on Alastair, but I personally don't believe it-"

"And why is that?" Crowley cut in, forcing her to pause, "you never did explain why you think he's innocent." Crowley twirled the mug in his hands around, then clasping them around it properly, "As a matter of fact, you never elucidated as to why they thought he was guilty."

Meg gave him a pinched looked, pressing her lips together tightly. The slight upward tilt of her head indicated she was trying to come up with a reason, trying to find one, but the slouch in her arms indicated she didn't have a really good one.

"Alastair's not a killer," she eventually came to saying, "he's a lot of things, but he isn't a killer. Can't put my finger on why, he just isn't, and I want you to trust me on that." Crowley eyed her, but gave her that nod of confirmation she was looking for. Pleased, she continued, "They've got their suspicion's on him because his finger prints are all over the place in there, all over her too-" she gestured vaguely to the floor, as if she was thinking of some sequence she couldn't put into words, "I know he was holding files of his own when he walked into the room to talk to her, and I'm guessing the shock of..- y'know, _that_ freaked him out."

"Dropped everything, I think. And there was.. there was _blood_ , just- it was just _everywhere_ , and nobodies talking about how she- nobodies saying how she _looked_ after, and just-" Meg stopped, making the quiver in her lower lip visible as she took a deep breath, trying to keep herself under control. Crowley stayed quiet as she did so. "I think they found the blood on some of his things, and were quick to assume, but really it feels just a bit- I dunno, it just feels real _obvious_ you know? Like _too_ obvious, as if someone's careful to shift the blame, or Alastair was just in such a state of shock he didn't realize it when he high tailed it out of there."

Crowley again, only nodded, not clear nor certain on what he could possibly put in to make all these wrongs righted once again. The Scotsman wasn't terribly close to Alastair, so he couldn't really say for certain what he thought of him; murderer wasn't a word that would come to mind, but _uneasy_ would, as well as _unstable_ and _resilient_. Crowley knew him from a few occasions to be a sort of solid shoulder his teams could lean on, and at one point, when he was in Crossroads, he was a overarching hand. Crowley can remember when he got promoted to King of the Crossroads because Alastair didn't care much for working with the masses and was able to get himself reassigned to a lower section.

They had lost both Alastair in the sector, and the original King or Queen of the Crossroads that day. Although Alastiar changed where he was going to work in the company, Crowley still didn't know what happened to the aforementioned ruler of the Crossroads.

He can remember the taller man preferring training to discussing policies, and he can remember one time in the break room after the whole shift where the man made a point to discuss he liked more hands-on professions. He enjoyed teaching, if Crowley recalls distinctly, he enjoyed directing decisions and perfecting the art of training to a proper crossed _t_ and strictly dotted _i_.

Alastair was a man of art, precision and patience. Crowley didn't know him personally, but he knew that much, and he knew that perhaps Meg was right. He most likely wasn't a murderer.

However, he can also see why they'd give him a single glance and retain the distinct impression that he's the one guilty.

He was a tall man, a little over six foot, Crowley was sure, with a long narrow face and sharp eyes; his shoulders were broad, and his features were all narrow and angular, and the tone of his voice was like a floating calm that seemed akin to that of a black void. Like pressing his hand against the smooth surface of calm water, and watching the tiny waves move from the gentle force; or staring at the gentle wind from behind a clear window in a pure white and empty room. Watching as it brushed along the leaves and the soft untouched grass, but not feeling it's cool breath, nor hearing it's wistful sound.

Everything stood still when he spoke, and there was something completely unnerving about the fact that everything became deathly silent with his words becoming a breeze in an empty room. Not to mention how he stood, as if the floor around his feet didn't exist until he stepped there, or how he held his back straight as a board-- or his smile; like using two fingers and slipping in at the edges of his lips, and pulling them upward to his cheeks to create a grin that didn't feel real. Crowley can see where they may mistake his prodigiousness with a sanguinary murderousness.

But Crowley's uneasiness towards the man didn't justify a murder he most definitely didn't cause.

Crowley wondered who else they could have pointed a corrupt, broken finger at. Meg seemed to think it was Ruby, but Crowley honestly had a hard time believing that dear child could harm a fly. She was strong, but she was also emotionally delicate; she's had her issues, but that was to be expected from years of drug abuse. She was unsteady, but she was getting better, and he had a difficult time believing she would sacrifice all of her hard work by murdering the one woman who did nothing but try and help her through it. It just didn't add up.

Crowley had made certain for Meg to check up on her as often as possible to make sure she wasn't using, and so far, out of perhaps a few faults, she was mostly clean. Relapse was to be expected, but she was working through it, he knew that, and he was giving her time and space to try and get herself grounded once again; all they wanted was to help get her grounded, and for a little while, it was working, but he imagined it wasn't for long. Things have been crazy, and mostly it was due to Abaddon's bloody persistence with Lilith for the unnecessary expansion of Purgatory, even though all that nonsense doesn't even _involve_ her.

A lot of decisions made these past few months hadn't made much if any sense, and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

Regardless, it had been hard on the company, and it had been severe to a majority of its workers. Ruby had taken a few blows herself, and again- with all those odd little meetings. Still, however, she wasn't capable of killing. Ruby was able to do a great deal, but killing was out of the question.

If she wasn't at work, then she was probably at home sleeping. It could very well just be coincidence that she wasn't at work today; it honestly wouldn't have been a first time a worker didn't report in, and it wasn't going to be the last.

Crowley thought to Abaddon, and nearly sneered. Abaddon was certainly capable, and she certainly _looked it_ with her bright blood red lipstick and sharp heel's as she saunters about as though she's just freshly murdered someone. Abaddon simply _looks_ like she's killed, and would do so again in a heartbeat. However, the problem with _that_ accusation being, was that Abaddon and Lilith were good friends. They went drinking sometimes, and were often talking; Lilith was one of the few people that Abaddon tolerated enough to be kind too, and that didn't happen often enough.

Azazel was out of the question, he was a single dad with two kids to raise and didn't have it in him to spare a cruel glance let alone take a life. He had too much to lose to begin with. Then there was Metatron; Crowley cringed slightly at the thought-- Him. If anyone would have killed Lilith, it would have been him. He never liked how she ran the place, simply because she was a women and believed strong that " _women shouldn't be in places of power_ " because they were " _too fragile to handle it._ "

He disliked Lilith greatly, and anyone with ears would know that simply because the bastard was vocal about it. Hated he had to take orders from a " _bitch in heat_ " he would say, and it was downright vile the things he felt comfortable enough to say to her face. He could be decent if he wanted to, but typically chose against it-- would say it didn't suit him to stand down to a power he didn't believe in or some other rubbish. People rarely go out of their way to correct him, to avoid confrontation with him; there was no arguing with the bastard.

But, if anyone would have had the reason, it would have been him.

But then again, he didn't know.

Maybe it _was_ Alastair, maybe he snapped about god knows what and took her life. If the evidence really points to him, then why not? Or perhaps it could have been dear Ruby, all pumped up and angry and finally took it out on someone. There's a chance Abaddon could have been the one to take her out-- she could have been frustrated with the way Lilith was handling things and felt the need to drag her six feet under to the pits of fire she most likely crawled out of.

Maybe it was none of the above; maybe it was someone that wasn't apart of the company altogether. Crowley didn't know if Lilith had any enemies, because if she did, she never spoke of them. Perhaps the murder was a personal friend, or an ex-lover. Perhaps it was someone nobody knew, and the whole company was simply receiving the byproduct of something awful. Crowley didn't know, and the longer he contemplated and thought about it, the more his head began to hurt.

He's only just woken up, and he wants nothing more than to go back home and crawl under his covers and pretend that today never happened.

Besides the first bit of it all, of course.

His uneasiness must have been visual as well, because the next thing he knew, he felt a hand grab his arm and squeeze. Crowley looked over to see Meg watching him and perhaps mirroring his own expression, because he can feel the same hurt that she was wearing.

Everything was complicated, and overwhelming, and he honestly felt like he could suffocate but Meg was there, and she wouldn't allow that to happen. They both knew that they weren't quite finished talking, but for now, they knew that the discussion was over. She let go of him to step over to the panel, and pressed the silver _Emergency Stop_ button, and after a vacant moment, the red lights lifted and were replaced by the crisp off-white of before. There was a slight shake before they began to ascend upwards again, and stayed silent even as it eventually stopped on their floor.

The doors parted with a nonexistent sound and only then did Crowley make the effort to move; Meg moved quietly behind him as they left. 

The whole floor looked completely empty; the cubicles were abandoned, with all of the screen's completely blank as they walked past. It was terribly silent, with the only sound being their shared footsteps against the flat carpet, thudding against the floor. Meg led him to which board room they were going to use for this specific case, and Crowley wasn't surprised to find that they were in the main one.

The room was larger than he remembered it being, but there were less people seated at the rather long wooden table placed in center. It was a piece to take up the whole of the room, and a lot of the members that came in here were often from multiple branches of the same assortment. They did larger meetings in here with other companies, they did work and business in here with high ranking individuals from other corporations, but today, it was rather empty.

The only people in here were apart of the ranking Committee. The ranking Committee was simply the leaders of the companies sectors; Abaddon was sitting on the right, along with Metatron, Gadreel, and Richard Roman. Gadreel wasn't apart of the committee itself, but he was Metatron's personal assistant which was allowed; however Dick wasn't ranked high enough to be apart of Committee, but Abaddon refused to attend unless he was around, and although Crowley would be delighted if she didn't show, he knew that she needed to be here so he didn't argue.

On the left side of the table, sat Alastair, who was staring down at the files in front of him, sitting so still he almost didn't look alive. Ruby was Alastair's assistant outside of working her duties in Human Resources, much like Meg was his own assistant outside of working her duties in Crossroads, but she wasn't in today, so the seat beside him was occupied by Azazel who never felt the need to have an assistant and much preferred the hands of many than to one.

After him is where Crowley used to sit, but now he finds himself walking to the far end of the table where they were all seated, and took his spot at the head. No one objected when he did so, although Abaddon seemed to squirm in her seat.

It felt.. wrong, to be seated there. He knew that isn't where he belonged, but apparently, it was where he was supposed to be now. Meg didn't take a seat, and opted to stand behind him instead, leaning against the side of his seat with her hands folded in front of her. She took his coffee mug from him after a moment, stealing a few more drinks but didn't make an effort to give it back, feeling the need to have something in her hands than to let them just lay there.

Crowley didn't bring any pages nor any files to this meeting, mostly because there was no way he could have prepared himself for what had happened. He glanced at the faces sitting at the table with him, all of which were looking to him now, all but Alastair.

Jesus, they all looked as shaken as he was about it. They looked confused, and even Abaddon didn't look quite right. Crowley pushed himself forward in his seat, ever so slightly before setting his shoulders and folding his hands on the table in front of him; there wasn't anything he could do now, than to simply work his way though it, much like he does everything else. So instead of wallowing in self-pity and letting that open wound overwhelm him, he did was he was supposed to.

He did his goddamn job.

"I'm sure we all know why we're seated here today," he began, his voice slow and controlled, pushing towards a sort of authority they all needed to hear right now, "so please let's skip the pleasantries, and get down to business, shall we?"

xox

The door shut softly behind the Scotsman as he left, and Bobby wasn't sure how long he stood there, before he finally decided that staring at the door wasn't going to magically make Crowley walk back an announce that it was all some elaborate prank. Course not, he thought with a sigh, of course not.

The morning had started nice, most of it, anyways. But that was usually just his luck in the long run; nothing lasted as long as he wished it would, and nothing lingers quite like he felt is should have. Lilith, that tall, narrow woman he met had died- Crowley didn't look at all alright when he finally left, and Meg didn't sound much like herself over the phone either. Neither one of them was well, but Bobby was incapable of doing anything about it, but give his support from the sidelines; and if that's what he needed him to do, then he wouldn't argue.

He's given Crowley enough grief as is, and the poor bastard didn't need him to run off and start a fuss about what just went down.

But, given what's happened, it would probably be in both their best interest's if he were to head home.

It doesn't matter what Crowley said about him staying here-- Crowley had planned on actually _spending time_ here before, but now he's back on his feet and busy with the company, and if Bobby's learned anything from their previous friendship, is that these sorts of things often could and _would_ last the rest of the day.

Needless to say, Bobby still had things he had to take care of at home.

The hunter was reluctant as he began piecing himself back together, grabbing his socks and pushing back his hair, adjusting the jeans on his hips and straightening out his shirt. Discarding of the pajama's Crowley let him borrow the night before, having to hunt down the laundry basket he was certain the Scotsman had, to discard Crowley's own clothes into before snagging to put on his own shoes. 

He stayed silent all the while, putting the few things he had pulled out away, and went around turning off all the lights. They each clicked softly as the lights flicked off silently, and soon the only light in the complex was from the sunlight streaming in from the drawn windows. Checking himself a few times, and double checking to make sure he had his keys, he left the others apartment without a second thought, feeling odd as he stepped out. To make things feel less bizarre, he jogged, rather than walked, to the elevator; his shoes thudded a bit louder than he preferred, but no one came rushing out of their apartment to chide him for the noise-- besides, it was still pretty early, and most of the patron's were still probably sleeping.

It was a Saturday, after all.

The elevator buzzed gently, and soon he was down and nearly out the door. There was a man sitting at the front desk this morning, who was holding up a little conversation with another man who was holding a few bags and a rugrat on his hip. The clerk paid him little mind as he left, opting to give him a friendly wave goodbye as he left, and Bobby would have felt weird if he didn't reciprocate in kind; needless to say, he didn't hesitate to push through those clear glass doors, and was surprised at how cold it was once he stumbled onto the front steps.

Bobby was quick to reach his truck, and turned on the heat as soon as his engine began to run. He could see his breath clearly in white puff's, and brought his hands to cup over his mouth to breathe heat back into them- especially after fumbling so terribly with his key's to get the damn thing running, his hands were horribly chilled.

Nobody noticed him as he sat there for a few minutes, heating up the car and checking to make sure he had everything on his person. A silent humming bubble from where he sat, trying to keep his thoughts strictly on himself and the truck, before he finally felt it was warm enough to begin driving with little incident. He was on the road in less than a minute, driving steadily and thoughtlessly down the road, trying not to think of everything that had just transpired, and opted to contemplate on why there was such an awful traffic jam.

It wasn't until he had finally gotten about half-way down did he start noticing the police car's everywhere; Bobby didn't even have to wonder for long once he realized what road he was on, cursing quietly under his breath.

He wondered vaguely how Crowley was holding up.

It took nearly a half-hour for him to get into the clear, and another thirty or so minutes before he had finally pulled up back to his home. He was tired and frustrated, and he was sick to death of being in a car at that point, thanking whatever deity was in the sky that he was finally home.

Bobby was welcomed back with a soft bark once he pushed through the door abet sluggishly, Rumsfeld trotting up to him in an almost equally sluggish manor, wagging his tail happily. The hunter sighed softly, reaching down a hand to scratch at the hounds head, who nuzzled into his palm.

"Did Jody stop by to feed you, like I asked?" he asserted, even though he knew the animal couldn't answer, although he was certain that she did. Jody Mill's and himself weren't on the greatest of term's, but she had been trying to rekindle some sort of normalcy when it came to them; her and Karen had been close friends, and after that with Bobby shutting himself off, they've exchanged a few harsh words here and there. But it's been years-- and she wasn't so bad now, and after losing her son, well-

Needless to say, Bobby understood, and as of this past year or so, they've been on a talking bases.

Bobby pushed his way past the door and closed it behind himself with a heavy sigh, pulling off his shoes as he was making his way into his Library made Living room, throwing them to the side in some odd direction, pointedly ignoring his answering machine as he made his way upstairs; he needed a shower, and a change of clothes for that matter, even if he had just taken one the night before, he still felt unclean.

Bobby was simply going through the motion's, like he had been doing all morning really; from after Crowley had left to returning home, he felt like he was on autopilot and although he wasn't stumbling around, he felt disoriented and he couldn't identify why that was. He felt fine, physically anyways, he felt good actually- it _was_ a really good morning _and_ it had been..- it was comfortable.

No awkward silence's, no weird or lingering regrets. _Yes_ , of course it _had_ been a little bit strange on his part, but it wasn't _bad_. He didn't leave Crowley's apartment hating himself, and he sure as hell didn't resent Crowley for his participation in it either; it felt right, _he_ felt right, and even now his nerves were still buzzing. 

And Crowley was-- he just _was_ and Bobby was still trying to completely process what they did. Like it was some vague notion, than an _actual_ thing they they did, and actively participated in.

He could still feel the other's hands on his face and neck, the lingering ghosts of it as he made his way up his staircase and snagged a towel on his way to his washroom; he could still feel his lips pressed against his neck, and hear his shallow breathing..- Bobby had a hard time _remembering_ a time where someone made him as flustered as Crowley was making him in this very moment, even without the bastard even _being_ there. The hunter can't even remember a time where he found himself _fantasizing_ -if that's what you could even _call_ this- about someone else.

He felt like a teenager again, all ridiculously twisted up over someone else that it was physically unsettling and emotionally overwhelming, and although it was still morning, Bobby felt completely and utterly drained.

With a soft huff, he stripped off his clothing, dropping them into a heaped up pile while turning the knob for his shower faucet; tampering with the temperature idly before switching the middle knob, and soon water was spraying from the shower head. Running his hand under the warm spray, he stepped inside; and didn't leave for a long while.

The day flew by in what felt like slow motion. Bobby having gotten cleaned up and redressed, made sure to feed his dog before checking that broken pipe again to make sure it was still holding out; which it was, at least for now it was. He still had to run out and get a new pipe for the damn thing sometime soon, but he honestly wasn't in the mood to worry over it now. He fixed himself something to eat, out of whatever he had in his fridge, and began working the rest of his day away on those voice mails while letting his half-empty glass of beer sweat away on his desk top.

Time ticked by precariously slow like, and Bobby could almost swear on his soul he could hear the gears in his watch grinding, and the minute hand ticking insistently on his wrist. The sky going from a pure white to a golden red as it began to finally make it's round back to the far side of earth, still a few hours away from falling under the horizon. The day had been exceptionally quiet too, and the hunter couldn't help but enjoy it while it lasted.

His phone had only gone off once while he was there, and it was simply Sam calling to check up on him, like he always did. He acted like his mother sometimes it was infuriating, especially because he was the one who raised _him_ in the first place, and not the other way around; Sam liked to forget that sometimes, or so Bobby had noticed.

He was a good kid, but he should be worrying about other things and not whether or not he's " _eating right_ " or " _taking care of himself_ ".

He wasn't a child anymore and didn't need his mothering, even though, on occasion, it had proved to be someone helpful. It was Sam that had convinced him to head out to the store that day a few months back, where he had initially ran back into Crowley; if he hadn't then, well-- Bobby probably wouldn't have been where he was now. And whether or not that was a fundamentally good thing or a bad thing had yet to have been decided, but he can't say he'd disagree with whatever the outcome may be.

Speaking of outcomes, he still hadn't heard hide nor tail of Crowley or about what was going on over at his place of employment. It's been nearly twelve or so hours and he hadn't heard from him since that morning; and, although Bobby told himself not to, he was just a bit worried. 

Worried for Crowley, worried that he might be accused of a crime he didn't commit; he worked with Lilith, and it wouldn't exactly be.. well, _surprising_ if they took to blaming him- it's not unheard of that career partner's have killed one another to gain their financial or likewise power. Of course, Bobby doesn't know what Crowley could have gained from her dying, probably a few days off of work while the higher-ups sort this mess out, but then again, Bobby doesn't know.

However, he _does_ know that Crowley didn't do it, at least he's sure he didn't- he was with him all last night, right after he got off the flight- but, there _was_ a least an hour or so gap between him being dropped off and them finally meeting up- a lot can happen in an hour, but Bobby had a pretty good feeling that he didn't do it.

Not with that look on his face when he heard.

Nobody could fake a look like that.

It was downright gut wrenching; so, honestly, Bobby didn't doubt him for a second. But that was _beside_ the point, and the point was, was that the police or whomever, didn't _know_ Crowley was with him last night, and there wasn't a proper way of coming out about that sort of thing without there being severe backlash. Something Bobby felt to be worse than being accused of murder.

With murder, there's stability. There's a set amount of rules that must be followed specific to that case, and it's easy to keep in track- prison wouldn't be so bad if someone was convicted of murder, mostly because a lot of people in prison are often in there for the exact same reason-- there would be that fitting balance. Twenty-five to life of three square meals a day, bedding, and having to worry about other inmates, but overall, it's _steady_. It's, of course, not _ideal_ because prison isn't exactly a five star ranking hotel, but it's still something where someone is looking after you, even if it may not feel like it.

Or at least from what he's seen in the movies and heard from a few friends-- Bobby's never been to prison, so he doesn't know from first hand accounts.

But, the point is, it's steady. But with how this little town was, coming out to.. to _anyone_ served as being extremely dangerous and extremely reckless. Prison's were steady, but people? People were completely unpredictable when left to their own devices, when nobodies around to monitor what they're up to. Sioux Fall's would be such a great little town if it weren't for all the extremists living in every corner of every office this city had.

They were part of the police force, part of hospital staff; they were the school teachers, and the firemen, and even the neighborhood street watch-- _especially_ the neighborhood street watch. They were some of the worst, and it made it hard and downright difficult for someone to feel comfortable enough in their own skin to express their body or express their sexuality. It was a pretty conservative town, but it might not have been so bad, and might have been even remotely _bearable_ , had the 'Church of Little Gospel' not been there.

Now, before anything gets said and done, there is absolutely _nothing wrong_ with believing in a higher power. There was nothing wrong with believing in heaven or hell, or wearing a cross around your neck-- there wasn't anything wrong with wearing the Star of David, nor was it wrong to wear a Hijab. There were hundreds of other religions out there, and there was nothing wrong with any of them, and there was more power to them if they felt comfort and safety in their beliefs; but the Church of Little Gospel wasn't like that.

No, they were more like a cult rather than a religion, regardless of what they would claim. They protested _everything_ and they went about splaying other people's secrets simply because they "didn't agree with it", putting their two-cents in other peoples business when they're not needed. They say what they're doing is their "god's plan" but most of the time it feel's like they have never actually bothered to pick up a bible other than to slam it around.

And they had a.. they had a thing about purity. They didn't mind eye colour or hair colour, but it was _preferred_ that one had blonde hair and blue eyes, they didn't mind skin colour, but it was _preferred_ that it was light and most certainly white. They had to be at least a certain weight and up to a certain maximum, had to be cis-gendered, and were not allowed to associate with anyone, unless strictly necessary, of someone with a different religion.

And _god forbid_ you weren't as straight as a board.

These people who protest at funerals, and start fights at pride parades; it's gotten so bad in the past few years, that the Sioux Fall's city hall found it too dangerous to continuously host these events, and encourage those interested to drive out of state if they want to attend. And they're _everywhere_ , so you can't just report the abuse, mostly because, _again_ they're in the police, their charges can and have been brought down and erased, and although there had been some investigations, or so what he's heard on the News, nothing was ever done about it; and these people are, very literally, getting away with assault, and sometimes even murder.

There was no safety in being yourself here, unless you reached their ridiculous requirements, and even then Bobby knew he wasn't naming them all.

So; if they think Crowley did it, either he "confesses" and deals with prison, or comes up with an on-the-spot story about how him and his _dear pal_ Bobby were working on some sort of project together and not at all going on a date-- or, he takes the risk, and tell's the truth.

That's assuming, of course, that they actually think he's involved somehow, but that's not even a given, but regardless. Bobby was honestly worried, because each outcome had their risks, and none were really any better than the first.

So he sat there, fretting as he tried to bid his time working on mundane little tasks and just hopes everything's alright. He still hadn't heard from him since that morning, and he has no idea what that means, or if he's even okay.

He was having a hard time trying to stomach the rest of his beer, looking at the half-empty bottle with an ounce of disdain he's never really felt before towards his rotgut, when he heard his phone vibrate by his arm. Bobby would be lying if he didn't snatch it up before it even stopped vibrating, finding it wasn't a call but rather a message, and feeling a pang of _something_ that wasn't quite panic, but wasn't quite worry either once he saw who it was from.

Opening it up, he read the short little sentence, _'Where are you'_ with a lack of any sort of punctuation, which meant something was definitely wrong. Crowley was careful in his texts, much like he was with every other little aspect in his life.

Bobby didn't want to seem too quick when he texted back, but he knew that waiting would be unreasonable, so he settled to somewhat slowly texting out _'I'm back at my house, where are you?'_ and he felt like that was good enough for now.

It wasn't very long until he got a response, seeing as he had just put down his phone; Crowley didn't seem to be as worried as he was about texting back too fast it seemed. _'Still in hell, but I'm on my way out.. Mind if I come see you'_

Bobby pressed his lips together, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth as he began typing back simply with _'Course not'_ before pausing and adding on _'do you want me to make you something to eat?'_ and sent that. Crowley usually wasn't one to ask to come over, he used to just show up unannounced and he would just work around him, but after everything going on, he probably didn't want to intrude- but after last night and the morning, maybe he was just checking, to make sure they were still on the same page.

He received a _'You don't have to do that, love, I'm not that hungry. I just want to see you'_ but Bobby persisted, which gained him a _'fine, but something small.. preferably in liquid form, made of chocolate, and really really warm'_ in return.

He was half expecting him to want alcohol like he usually did, but Crowley knew he doesn't carry his Craig, and hadn't for a little while. This whole thing had set Bobby from wanting to drink, giving him a hard time trying to stomach it, so he couldn't imagine how the other felt. So far, he didn't seem to be going on about how the police want his head, so perhaps he was lucky and they didn't suspect him to be the culprit, which would be a good change from all the bad that's been happening recently.

Bobby sent him a confirmation, and didn't get a text back. Without much fuss, he dropped what he was doing, putting a few books to the side of his desk with a few bookmarks, and doggy ears, to get back to for later. Setting his beer aside, Bobby strolled into his kitchen and pulled out one of his silver pots and went about boiling some water. Crowley had reprimanded him about getting a kettle at some point, but he just never got around to it; much like the pipe.

Now that he thinks about it, he really doesn't worry about his own necessities probably as much as he should. Not that it changes anything, but it's something he noticed.

He didn't know whether or not Crowley was on his way, or if he planned to stop by his apartment first before coming over, and he could very well be making his drink too early, but Bobby didn't think about that. No, what Bobby was thinking about was whether or not he even _had_ the powder to make cocoa - which wasn't exactly the same as hot chocolate, but that's only because he was out of milk and he hoped that Crowley wouldn't mind - and if he still had that bag of marshmallows in the cabinet.

Much to his luck, he still had some left over from a few week's back from the Christmas party. He wasn't sure who had been the one to bring it over, but he thanked them silently to himself as he pulled the box onto the counter. He washed a few cups and mugs while he was up, not exactly doing the little dishes he had, but not exactly _not_ doing it either. Drying a medium sized mug out and setting it beside the stove.

He straightened up the counter a bit, piling up the little dishes he had left into the sink as neatly as he could and not make it look cluttered, before wiping down the counter itself and ripping open the cocoa packet, pouring the powder into the recently cleaned out mug. He let the water simmer for a few minutes, and boil for a little over fifteen before getting to pour it into the mug, snagging a spoon, he began stirring absently; it wasn't until he found the marshmallows did he hear a car door slam outside.

Bobby didn't have to look outside to know who it was, if the sudden flutter in his chest was any indicator. 

The hunter wasn't really sure what he expected when Crowley finally pushed past his back door, folders in one of his arms and keys in his opposite hand. He looked exhausted, his movements a bit sluggish if not edging towards frustrated and drained. There was a tight sort of tension between his brows as he dropped his keys onto the hunters counter and slipping his folders underneath them.

"Hey," Bobby began to say, and maybe there was supposed to be a string of words to follow, but they never came when Crowley reached him and pulled him down by his shoulders to press a kiss against his mouth. It wasn't urgent, nor was it passionate - just comforting. The kiss felt reassuring but Bobby wasn't sure exactly _what_ Crowley was trying to reassure.

Just that maybe he was trying to make sure everything was still alright.

He moved back after a moment, eyes closed and tilting his head downward slightly before moving to press his forehead against the hunters shoulder, never making a sound outside of the heavy sigh from his nose when his arms slipped from his shoulders and to his sides, hands simply resting and feeling almost fragile. Bobby frowned slightly, but lifted his arms to slip around the other man's shoulders, holding him carefully and keeping his bombardment of questions to himself.

And so they stood there, for a long time, and neither one of them moved much or said much. Bobby tried a few times, but always stopped himself from vocalizing the questions he had or to find out what happened-- it wasn't his place to ask, and if Crowley wanted to say something, he would. Simple as that, and he didn't want to push when Crowley was very clearly drained from the days events.

Eventually he felt a sigh brush against the side of his neck when Crowley finally moved back a little, but his hands stayed by his sides and soon moved to the front and began picking at the small specs of lint on his shirt, or even the dirt his imagination conjured up.

"M'off duty for a week," Crowley eventually murmured, keeping his eyes downcast to the front of the hunters shirt with lazed concentration towards his picking, "Lilith's lawyers are coming in next week, first thing, to finish up her claims. They've uhm-" he stopped for a moment, not quiet pausing as he picked away two or three more times at Bobby's shirt before going on, "they have to, ah.. write out and validate a lot of.. well-" Crowley stopped talking again, but this time the pause was drawn out longer. Bobby didn't say a word, because he knew he was trying to find what he was trying to say, and looking as drained as he did, Bobby didn't blame him.

"Lilith, well she- she died without making a Will," he finally said, "so, by Rules of Intestacy, her property and all her belongings, including the company, are meant to go to close relatives or a spouse. However," Crowley sighed gently, "she wasn't married, nor did she have a lover that anyone knew. She had a son, but he's only a few years old, and he's going to inherit everything once he becomes of age, which won't be for another twenty or so _years_. Lilith didn't have any close family either, but from what I heard, her son is staying with _distant_ family across the ocean.. distant aunt or something, I don't know."

"What's gonna happen to the company?"

"Well, that's the thing," and Crowley looked even more distressed than he did a moment ago, if that was even remotely possible, "due to Intestacy, as her closest associate, I take complete charge of the company, her finances, her estate, just.. just _everything_ , and once everything's filed, I take charge as the head by the following week," Bobby looked at him with stunned silence, but Crowley didn't look up to catch his gaze, "Until her son's old enough to claim everything, it's under my charge unless I, myself, die, or if I'm taken out of office by the Committee who then will elect someone else to take my place. Preferably the present King or Queen of the Crossroads, but it can go either way."

"Jesus," Bobby breathed, brows furrowing, "M'sorry to hear that."

Crowley gave a soundless chuckle, smiling but there was a lack of joy behind it, "I just inherited the largest company currently known to man, and yet you're apologizing to me."

Bobby rolled his eyes, "I'm apologizing, you right bastard, because you obviously want nothing to do with it. Just _look at_ yourself, you look miserable and you haven't even started yet."

The Scotsman looked about ready to snap back with something particularly snarky, but bit his tongue instead because he knew he was right. With a frown he shook his head, "It doesn't matter whether or not I _like_ it, I'm still stuck with it until the infants old enough. Besides," he hummed, glancing up at the hunter, "I still love my job, and if I can still somehow work in the Crossroads after this, then I'll be just fine."

"What if you can't?" Bobby asked, "From what it looks like, your boss didn't seem to do much in your area."

Crowley scrunched up his face, giving him a pinched up expression, "Always the pessimist you are."

"More like a realist," the hunter retorted, "but you know what I mean. Whose getting your old job?"

"Meg," Crowley said, "she know's the ropes just as well as I do, and she'll be taking my place as Queen of the Crossroads, and be Co in command beside me." The Scotsman flattened his hand out against the hunters torso, his fingers stopped from picking at his shirt and flattened it down before letting his hand fall to his side, "I don't see a soul more qualified for it, and hopefully she'll help me figure out exactly what I'm supposed to do, too."

"You didn't talk about that today?"

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose, "I'm working with a group of bloody morons, the whole lot of them," he muttered, "not a single one of them understood exactly what he job entailed. Even _Abaddon_ which came as a surprise, seeing how much time they spent together."

Bobby nodded to him, "Do they..-" he paused, chewing the inside of his lip a moment, "do they know who did this?"

Crowley pressed his lips in a thin line before shaking his head, "No," he said, "no leads that I know of. They thought it was one of the managers, but he was vouched for, luckily," Crowley sighed, "Did I tell you about the officer that called me a _'British pansy'_ -" Crowley did quotations in the air as if to emphasis his point, "-this morning?"

Bobby quirked a brow at him and Crowley lifted his own in bewilderment, "A _British pansy!_ I'm not even _British_."

Bobby felt the the slight upturn on the edge of his lips, but he did everything in his power to keep them from going up any further, "It was the accent."

"I don't care, the _pansy_ bit could have been left out."

"What's with that, anyways?"

"What's with what?"

Bobby gestured to him vaguely, "Y'know, the accent? If you're not British, why do you talk like one?"

"It's called cutting ties," Crowley replied, "it's a long story, darling," he breathed, "I suppose it's something to talk about when I'm not so bloody tired."

"Oh, right," Bobby stepped back, grabbing the mug from the counter, "M'sorry you've been havin' a rough day, and ah," he chuckled slightly, pushing the mug forward, "Sorry the cop called you a pansy."

Crowley eyed the mug in his hands, and for the first time since he's shown up, Bobby could see the whispers of a smile nudge it's way on the Scotsman's lips, "Oh darling, you truly do spoil me." Crowley reached for the cup, wrapping his palms around the hot glass and interlacing his fingers somewhat around the back, placing three fingers through the handle and brought it up to his lips.

Bobby glanced down at his feet as Crowley took a sip, stepping back slightly so that his tailbone could be pressed against his kitchen table, hearing a soft appreciative hum from the other.

"It's good," he said, blowing away a bit of the steam before taking another drink, careful to go slow seeing as it was still pretty hot, "your coffee this morning was amazing, by the way," he commented, looking up at the hunter with a soft grin, "Meg even said so herself."

"She had some?" Bobby asked with faint amusment, to that Crowley only nodded.

"Of course," he said, "she'll drink or eat anything I bring to work, she never has breakfast," he took another sip, "you should have seen her this morning, she was in such a bad mood. Almost tore that officer I was talking about a new one."

"I don't doubt it."

"Neither do I," he murmured, "I wonder what stopped her."

"Maybe it was the badge," Crowley scoffed at that.

"As if," the Scotsman chuckled, "she's said worse things to more important people."

"She doesn't have a filter."

"No, she really doesn't," Crowley smiled, "it's probably why we get along so well."

Bobby nodded, it's probably one reason why him and Meg were fairly close too. "How's she doing anyways, y'know, with all this?" Bobby made a vague gesture but Crowley was able to follow his line of thought regardless.

He gave a heavy sigh, "Not good," he shook his head, "not good." There was a moment where neither one of them said anything, and it was a pause that indicated that Bobby was waiting for him to continue, and where Crowley was waiting for the other to comment, but when neither happened, they both made to open their mouths at the same time and they both stopped when they realized the other was going to talk. After a few moments of silence, they burst into a soft fit of chuckles, where Bobby asked him to continue.

"Sorry, yes ahm," Crowley swallowed back his laughs, hiding it with a cough and trying to remember what he was going to say before giving the other a slight nod, "she was on a rampage this morning. Meg's never been the best at handling her emotion's, but she was doing her damnedest at keeping them mostly in check, besides the first fifteen or so minutes once I got there," he went on carefully, "she was angry at the police for accusing one of the managers, she was upset about Lilith's death, and she was a few seconds away from castrating an officer that wasn't letting me into my own building."

Crowley shifted from foot to foot, "It's been a wild day," Crowley stated almost distastefully, "I'm just glad it's over."

"I can tell," Bobby replied, "you look tired to all get-out, you should really get some sleep."

Crowley shook his head, "I'm not ready to go home just yet."

"Who said anything about you going home?" Bobby pushed up from where he was resting on the table, reaching out and grabbing the half-empty mug from the Scotsman's hands, "I have a perfectly good bed upstairs you can crash on," he began, "and if you look into the third drawer of my dresser, I think there's a few pairs of clean sweats you can throw on so you're not sleeping in a suit."

Crowley looked dumbstruck for a few moments before shaking his head, "no, darling, you don't have to do that for me-"

"Don't worry about it," Bobby interrupted, "I don't expect you to go home so soon, and you let me stay over at your place last night- just see it as me extending the courtesy, alright?" Crowley looked like he might protest again, probably just to clarify but Bobby simply shook his head, "Look, you said you had a week or so off of work, right?" the Scotsman nodded, "well, that's a week or so that can make up from you being gone. Let's get to know each other," and Bobby could feel his face heaten up slightly at the look on Crowley's face, but he gave his absolute _all_ to not pull down his cap or avert his eyes, "If we're uhm.. if we're going to do this, might as well do it properly."

The corners of Crowley's lips quirked, "sounds like a plan, love."

"Barely," Bobby quipped, "anyways," he coughed, averting the line of conversation, "the bedroom's the second door to the left, and I'm sure you know where everything else is. If you need anything, let me know, alright?"

Crowley nodded to that but didn't justify with a response as he brushed his fingers through his hair and back, which Bobby came to find was a habit of the others; but whether it was a nervous one or a subconscious one, he didn't know.

"Thank you," he eventually said, taking a little step forward and reaching a hand up to the hunter's neck, pushing up slightly on his toes to press a kiss against the side of the hunters mouth, "when will you be up?"

Not _will you_ but _when_. Crowley doesn't think for a second that maybe Bobby might _not_ join him in bed, and although Bobby had planned to, it occurred to him that these sorts of things were becoming an absolute and not a _what if_. Bobby still couldn't decide whether or not that was a bad thing, and settled to deciding that it really didn't matter, because he liked absolutes and he liked Crowley.

"A little later," he answered, "I've got a few more things I need to finish looking into, then I'll be up," then he added, "don't wait up."

"Okay," Crowley murmured, shifting up to press one last kiss on him, his lips landing on the others scruffy cheek before he finally pulled away, "don't be disappointed if I'm dead asleep once you finally show up."

"Disappointed isn't exactly the word I'd use."

"Real cute, darling," the shorter male said over his shoulder, waving him off before disappearing around the corner. Bobby didn't move until he heard the last of the other's steps going up the stairs, and Bobby didn't know exactly why he waited, but he did. It's been a long time since he's shared his bed with anyone, and it's been a long time since he's shared his home after those boys left.

The hunter glanced over at the files on his counter, but fought the urge to go over and see what they were. If Crowley wanted him to look he would have shown them to him; Bobby could respect a person's privacy, that wasn't hard to do. What _was_ hard to do, however, was pull up some sort of stigma to finish up at least one more call before heading to bed. And tonight he was going to actually _use_ his bed, instead of the couch, because at least now there's some incentive to head upstairs.

And with that, Bobby forced himself back to his desk, where he stayed seated for the next hour or so, scribbling down notes until the sun had finally fallen under the horizon, and till his hand was sore from writing. He made a few calls, and left a voice-mail or two before he went about putting his books back onto their proper shelves-- he's been making a point to himself lately to not be so sloppy so he doesn't have to pick up after himself all the time; so he just does it while he's working, and it gives him a bit more free time at the end of the day.

The hunter took one last look at his beer and grabbed it, taking it to his kitchen and pouring out the rest in his sink before placing the empty bottle on the counter to deal with later. Shutting off the lights one by one, and locking his back door, he started walking up the stairs with a lumbering dog at his heels. The floor boards creaking under his weight, but today he didn't really think about it once he reached the top step.

His bedroom door was slightly ajar, the lights off; Bobby flipped off the hallway light that rested at the top of the stairs, before walking up to his room in near darkness, pushing the door open gently to keep it from creaking too loudly, leaving it wide open when Rumsfeld collapsed his heavy body by the door-frame, tag wagging gently and slow. The hunter looked over to his bed and saw the darkened figure of the other, lying on the far left side of his bed, with a pile of clothes by the foot of the bed which Crowley probably didn't care enough to fold properly when removing them.

Bobby took off his flannel and pulled off his shoes, dropping them by the door where Crowley had tossed his own, the laces tangling as they flopped to the floor with a heavy thud; the sound was a bit loud, but the man in his bed didn't stir. Dropping the fabric from his arms, he let it fall beside the bed, unbuckling his jeans and dropping them to the floor.

Bringing up his leg's, he slid under the familiar blankets and settled against the mattress. It felt a bit lumpy compared to Crowley's, which honestly felt like he was laying on some silk cloud, with blankets that felt like feathers and cotton and outer space, they were so soft. Bobby's bed felt a bit more used, rougher around the edges but still comfortable enough to sleep in without any problems, the blankets were warm, but their use was excessive-- some parts of them had holes, others had bleach spots and faded area's, while even some had all three or some mixture of some two.

Sam and Dean were never exactly _careful_ with their blankets when they were younger. With their fort's of pillows and blankets, and sitting in all day watching movies and smearing popcorn butter over their sheets. He's had to clean these blankets more times than he's ever actually used them himself.

Bobby pulled the blankets up a bit further, sighing through his nose as he tried to get comfortable, and paused when he felt his leg brush up against the other body laying by his side. The hunter stopped moving, looking up towards the Scotsman whose back was facing the hunter and his front was facing the curtain-drawn window; legs curled up towards his body and his arms tucked up in front of him. The hunter watched as his torso moved softly with every breath, and felt the sudden urge to just turn over to him and wrap his arms around his shoulders-- there wouldn't be any harm done, but Bobby stopped himself before he could even move.

There wouldn't be any harm, but he didn't think he was quite ready for that sort of intimacy just yet. Kissing was one thing, sex was another, but _holding_ the other..- it seemed a little rushed, and a little bit too soon. The hunter bit down on his lower lip and shifted so he was lying on his back; it's not that he didn't- it wasn't as if he _didn't_ want to, but it was more on if he should or not. It was redundant to think over, but he knew that a step like that was very-- it was _loving_.

It wasn't as if Bobby didn't like Crowley, contrariwise actually, he liked him; liked him a _lot_. He wouldn't be doing this if he didn't, but that was beside the point. The point being that it just felt too _soon_ to be doing those little act's just yet. Kissing didn't have to be loving, but sometimes it felt like it was, and neither did sex, but this morning crushed any chance of them having something casual, and although it could have been a good scapegoat, Bobby's not entirely disappointed that it went the way it did.

But, in the same sense, the whole day for Crowley had been ruined in one go. He was supposed to get three days off, and although now he has a week or so, the cost wasn't something that the man would have been willing to give. Bobby kept his eyes steady on the others shoulder's, glancing up through the darkened room to his head where he could see soft wisps of his short hair sticking up everywhere, always in a constant state of disarray, and Bobby's noted this countless times, but he can't help but notice it again.

Maybe because it was one of the few things about Crowley that wasn't in order.

Bobby glanced down to the man's shoulder blade's, or in their general direction because the room was dark and he was completely covered, and he sighed. With a bit of trepidation, he scooted his body a bit closer to the other before shifting onto his side. His hand slipped up while under the covers and moved to wrap his arms around the others shirt clad torso, arms tucking underneath the Scotsman's arms, gently and slow so he didn't accidentally wake up, and so very carefully, he wrapped himself around him.

There was a moment where all the sounds in the house ceased to exist and were somehow the loudest thing he could hear, outside of the blood rushing in his ears; but Crowley didn't move much, outside of a soft contented sigh from sleep and the hunter felt it safe enough to bury his face against the others shoulder-blades. Crowley came over for a lot of reason's, tonight: one, was to see him, which was obvious from his text. Two, was to talk, maybe get a few things off his chest. Three, was to unwind, and even if he probably had subconsciously or actively known, he came here to stay a while, and Four; he came here for comfort.

After everything he's probably going though, Bobby can spare his own personal preferences on how this should all be played out, and just hold onto him because even though Bobby's never been very good at comforting someone, he know's approximate knowledge of the basics, and rule one was to make sure the other knew they were cared for, and even though Bobby didn't know exactly what all that entails, this little give should be more than enough for now, at least til morning.

So, he laid there, listening to the others soft breathing and feeling the subtle rise and fall of his chest between his arms, and maybe he wished he knew what he was supposed to do in situations like this, and maybe he worried a bit too much. And maybe it took a few hours for him to finally fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt like it was mostly transaction from transaction-- loads of skipping about, but I'm honestly hoping it flows as well as I think it does. ^^ Thank you to everyone for reading, and I hope you all enjoyed.
> 
> I've been writing a lot of emotional/draining scene's with these two-- I plan to jump back on Crowley being a snarky bastard again soon, so that even's out how oddly I've been characterizing him (which I'm sorry for).
> 
> //also, with the whole tid-bit of Bobby rambling about prison; alright, I've never been to prison, however my mother has worked as a guard in both a juvenile detention center and two prison's in her life, so that tid-bit came from stories she's told me (which were probably clean cut) but as accurate as I could get without actually looking into it- (That and from watching all the season's from Prison Break, but I'm not exactly 100% sure they're even remotely accurate, so bear with me here.) -- also, Church of Little Gospel, I don't think that's a name of any specific church, I even looked it up, but if you know of one, please let me know so I can change it.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to send out my love for everyone whose given kudo's, comments, and/or continues to read this story. You're all gem's, and I appreciate you immensely. Thank you for your continuous support, and I hope you enjoy.

He wakes up when the sun still isn't out quite yet, and there are lips against his jaw.

The hunter's disoriented and groggy but he knows when there's a steady pressure against his side, or when someone's dragging kisses along his jaw and to his ear, but yet he doesn't know why and he doesn't know how long the other's been going at it.

It was a lazy thing, from what he could tell, as he felt the other's arm along his side and the mans knee against the curve of his hip. He recalls wondering if the other was an insomniac, seeing as no matter where they were or what time it was, Crowley was almost always never sleeping -- but never brought up the courage to ask when he felt the other's nose nuzzle along the area right before his ear and against his temple. Instead he shifted slightly, giving the impression of ' _stirring awake_ ' and it allowed Crowley to know he was no longer asleep. He could feel the other go still before there was a soft hum, a silent beat, and then a, "Are you up, love?"

Bobby doesn't open his eyes for the longest time, and instead of replying in words, he groaned as if it were some form of an acceptable response. It was then he noticed the fingers in his hair, softly brushing through the strands, but not in any.. _suggestive_ manor. Again, it was lazy, drawn out and absent. It sort of made Bobby wonder what he was doing, which brought up the question as to why the other was even awake.

"Havin' trouble sleepin'?" he slurred out, which sounded more incoherent than he would prefer, but it seemed Crowley understood none the less.

He hummed a little slow, not quite answering but Bobby knew he'd get a response at some point, by how the others lips had stopped pressing against his jaw, "You could say that."

Bobby managed to peek an eye open, raising a brow at the man hovering above him in the dark. His face was covered in shadows, but the hunter could still make out the soft colour of his eyes and the dark circles underneath them; he could still make out the tension between his brows and that his lips were pursed briefly before relaxing. He looked as if he was getting ready to say something, but kept biting his tongue.

"What's wrong?" It was redundant to ask, he already knew what was wrong, but he wasn't sure if _that_ was exactly what was bothering him at the moment. Crowley seemed drawn between telling him and trying to go back to sleep, but eventually he cracked, shifting on his elbows.

"Do you have any ice cream?"

That wasn't at all what he expected to hear.

"What?" Bobby coughed, shifting upwards so he was resting on his elbows. He was almost certain he misheard him, but Crowley validated his questioning with the same answer, pushing up with his hands until he was sitting back on his heels.

"Ice cream," he insisted, "do you have any?"

"Ah," he blinked, eyes still on his face before glancing towards the door, then back again, "I, uh- I don't think so?" Bobby shook his head, "Why?"

Crowley sighed, "I've been thinking about it all day," he admitted, tone slow before slipping his legs out of the covers and maneuvering them onto the floor. Bobby watched him, dumbfounded, as the other stepped over to the door and pulled his shoes from beside the entrance, Rumsfeld not stirring as he began slipping them on.

"Wh- what are you doing?" Bobby didn't realize he was pushing his covers off until his feet hit the floor. Crowley didn't look up at him, but Bobby didn't miss the slight shrug in his shoulders.

"Going to get ice cream."

"What time-" the hunter began, his eyes darting over to the digital clock resting on his night stand, blinking furiously at it until he was absolutely _sure_ that's what it said, "it's- Jesus, it's _three_ in the _morning_ , Crowley," Bobby turned his head to face the Scotsman, who was struggling with one of his laces, "this seriously can't wait until the sun's up?"

There was a pregnant pause, then "No."

Bobby couldn't have sighed harder, running his hands against his face as if it could somehow possibly make sense of this. It was too damn early in the morning to feel this exasperated.

"You don't even like cold foods," he muttered under his breath, but eventually grunted out a " _Fine_ , fine, you win, but just.. take off the shoes," Crowley, for the first time since he's slithered out of bed, gave him a curious look from over his shoulder. Bobby waved it off, "you're not wearing _dress_ shoes in pajama's, damn it. I've got some downstairs that just might fit you," he said, pushing himself out of bed before moving over to his dresser to grab a pair of _something_ to cover his legs. His hands landed on more plaid pajama's, so that's what he slipped on.

"Oh, darling, you don't have to come along-"

"S'too late, m'already up," Bobby waved off, gesturing for the other to take off his other shoe as he maneuvered around his Rottweiler and out of the room, "besides, you ain't going by yourself. Not to mention I doubt you even know _where_ a 24 hour place is even at..-" he paused, then added, "that _isn't_ in the city," he glanced back into the room to the man standing in the doorway. The hunter didn't really even have to see his face to imagine he looked sheepish, "see what I mean?"

"Thank's, love," and Crowley was _too_ damn tired to sound that sincere, but he did, and it took Bobby's _all_ to simply brush it off.

"Don't worry about it," the hunter reassured idly, before he heard a soft thud emanate from the room, and imagined it was Crowley's other shoe falling to the wooden floor, who soon stepped out and trailed along behind him.

They made their way down the steps in silence, at least until Bobby reached the kitchen and pulled open his supply closet. There were a few pairs of shoes littering the floor, some of which were far more filthier than other's, compared to the few that's only been worn once or twice. He pulled out a pair he's probably only put on a couple of times, and handed them over to the Scotsman who took them carefully, eyeing them a moment before going to sit down and slip them on. His feet only had to be a bit smaller than his own, so he didn't really think that the size difference would matter.

He pulled out a worn pair of shoes that he usually wore when heading off to the store, or when he's moving around the salvage yard; slipping them on easily enough.

Crowley was still trying to knot his second shoe as Bobby pulled out one of his jackets, tossing it over to the other man who just barely caught it, letting his foot slip to the ground. Bobby pulled his own off the back of his chair, before snagging his keys off of the hook by the door. Crowley was behind him in seconds, zipping up his jacket as Bobby held the door open as they made to slip outside.

There was a soft burst of cold wind that spread into the house in a vigorous flourish. Their breath becoming white clouds as they stepped out into the bitter early morning, rushing to his truck, which was a hell of a lot closer than the Scotsman's car, and quickly stumbled inside. They huffed, with Bobby fumbling to get the car running and the heat going, as Crowley breathed warmth into the palms of his hands; once the car started, Bobby immediately turned on the heat, waiting a few beats before he was certain it kicked on, sending the other man a look.

"You sure you still want to get ice cream?" he asked, glancing in his direction, struggling to make out the features of the other's face. Crowley nodded, and at least Bobby could still see that. With a weary sigh, he put his hands to the frost-bitten wheel, "alright then," he murmured, sticking his shift into gear, flicking on his headlights, and pulling out.

His engine coughed a few times, but didn't give out as he maneuvered them onto the street. He took a sharp left which would lead them into town, with the road smooth and the tires quiet as they drove along. There was a comfortable silence that had settled in the truck, which Bobby felt tempted to break; mostly due to a single question he couldn't get out of his head.

"What is it?" and if Bobby had been a lesser man, he might have jumped. Instead he quirked a brow, and turned his inquired head towards the man in the passenger seat a moment, only to find that the others sharp eyes were already on him. Bobby coughed, quickly returning his gaze back to the road.

"What is what?" he asked, tapping his finger against the wheel.

"You've got your jaw set, love," came the murmured reply, "mean's you're thinking," and the comment put the hunter at a pause, because how could he _possibly_ know that?

Yet Bobby often likes to forget that Crowley works with people for a living, and that reading people is what he does; he also, often times, likes to forget that although he's not one of Crowley's clients, he's still a person, and he's still readable.

"Yeah," he coughed, eyes glancing along the roadside before settling towards the long stretch of road in front of them, "I was ah, I was wondering if- if this was something you usually did?" Bobby knew he didn't have to specify, but he took it into account that it was still three in the morning and Crowley probably hadn't slept for more than twenty some minutes tonight, "Y'know, with the midnight snack runs?"

There was a thoughtful sound on the other's lips, "sometimes," he said, almost as if it were an afterthought rather than an answer, "I realize that it might have seemed a bit odd for me to wake you up asking for food."

" _Might_ have?" Bobby chuckled, and maybe it came out a bit sharper than he intended, but Crowley didn't seem put off by it.

"It's been a bad day," he said quietly, shifting so his hands were resting between his thighs for warmth. His mouth quirked as he tried to hide a frown, but doing a rather poor job at concealing it. Crowley couldn't have been more thankful for the fact that the sun hadn't risen, and won't for a few more hours.

Something seemed to click with the older hunter who, quite suddenly, felt guilty for snapping at him earlier, "you eat when you're upset, don't you?"

Crowley was quiet, but that was all the answer Bobby needed.

"You know, you _can_ tell me these things," Bobby began, his tone growing soft, "you don't have to.. to _pretend_ around me. You're going through a lot, and if asking me to get you.. _bucket's_ of ice cream at three in the morning makes you feel better, even just a little bit, then so be it."

Crowley still hadn't said a word, and for a moment, Bobby worried if he had said the right thing; however, before he could try to amend it, he felt a warm hand brush against his wrist where his palm had been resting over the leather shift. There was a gentle tug where his hand slipped off and Bobby almost asked what the other was doing, at least until he felt Crowley's warm palm clasp over his own, intertwining their fingers and letting it rest between their bodies, but never saying a word.

Crowley stayed relatively silent after that, but Bobby didn't overlook the fact that his.. his partner's hand was shaking a bit in his grasp; and although the hunter couldn't tell if it was due to the cold or nervousness, he opted to thinking it was the former, and cursed his truck for taking so long to heat up.

The drive was steady and forward, and the street's stretched out before them were long and near abandoned. The branches of the tree's were still, and the sky was completely cloudless while Sioux Falls was covered by that thin white sheet of snow, sitting in fragile layers against the untouched outstretch of land and forest around them. Bobby glanced over in the Scotsman's direction, whose focus and gaze was out of the window and towards the shadows dancing off of the snow. He didn't notice the hunters faint stare, and if he did, he never made a notion to acknowledge it. The hunter couldn't help but allow his gaze to flicker from the road to him, because honestly, he hadn't felt so enraptured by someone as much as he did with Crowley. It's just taken him a little longer to figure it out for himself.

It wasn't until Bobby pulled up to the convenience store, did they take their hands back. Bobby deliberately left his keys in the car, planning to keep it running so that the heater could stay running for when they got back. Bobby slipped out of his seat and slammed the heavy door behind him, walking around his truck, him and Crowley were quick to rush inside.

The lights were bright if not a little overbearing, blinking a few times to adjust his vision. Bobby gave the place a brief scan before spotting the middle aged woman sitting behind the counter; she was working on a crossword puzzle as she looked up at the two entering men. She didn't say anything, choosing to shoot them a friendly smile before dropping her attention back to the booklet, leaving the two men be.

The store was small, to say the least. It had about six or seven aisle's in the middle, with multiple stands pressed against the stretch of wall, and a freezer section in the back. Crowley made a soft sound as he looked the little store over, trying to map the place out as he grabbed one of the black carrying baskets and handed it to Bobby to hold.

The hunter was sure he heard Crowley mutter under his breath, but he couldn't be certain what he said as he trailed behind him to the back. The Scotsman stopped once he reached where he wanted to be, looking inside before glancing to the hunter.

"What kind do you want?" Crowley questioned, turning his eyes back to the glass of the freezer.

"We came here to get _you_ ice cream, not me," the hunter mumbled, shifting to his opposite foot as he adjusted the basket in his hold.

Crowley shot him a look, "If you think you're _not_ eating any, you're delusional."

Bobby sighed, he should have realized it wasn't going to be a quick run 'n go. "Uh, whatever you're having."

"No," Crowley brushed his answer off, "you have to have a _preference_."

"I really don't care what we have," the hunter breathed, but Crowley shot him a glare and he gave in with a huff, " _fine_. Fine, ah-" he glanced to the freezer, reading over a few names until he found one that sounded familiar, "I don't know, ah-" he murmured, "mint chocolate."

Crowley made an appreciative hum, pulling open the freezer door and made to pull out two cartons, placing them in the basket Bobby was holding before pausing. He glanced inside and grabbed a Vanilla and a Moose Tracks before placing them in as well.

"Whipped cream," he announced it as if it were a statement, heading down the aisle and all Bobby could do was follow. Crowley stopped a little ways down, pulling open another door, he reached inside to pull out two cans and placed them in the basket, distractedly walking somewhere else.

"Y'know, if you're hungry, I _can_ make you something to eat," Bobby offered, watching as Crowley eyed a few bags of chips. The Scotsman gave a small shrug of his shoulders, not looking up to meet the hunters eyes as he shook his head.

"I'm not _hungry_ , per say," he started, "I just want food. Or the, uh- the illusion of actual food, something to put my teeth to," he breathed, pulling a small bag of some off brand chip from their station and eyed it for a few moments before placing it back with a sigh, "sorry, darling. I know that probably doesn't make much sense."

"It doesn't have to make sense," the hunter shrugged, "get whatever you need, alright? S'on me."

Crowley paused then, looking up at the hunter with a guilt ridden expression, "No! No, dear you _really_ don't have to-"

"Crowley, for the _last_ time, don't worry about it," Bobby insisted, narrowing his eyes at the man, "I _know_ I don't have to. I know I don't have to do anything. I _want_ to, that's the whole reason I'm _offerin'_ , y'idjit."

The Scotsman always seemed to look pleasantly surprised with him, that it was beginning to make him wonder what Crowley honestly expected when he got into this strange little makeshift _whatever it is they have_. He wasn't sure if he expected a mean old drunk, or for him to be careless or rude, but he couldn't help but find it amusing that he's not the only one figuring out that he shouldn't put labels on the other.

And here he was, acting worried that Crowley could read him.

He was just as clueless about this as he was.

He didn't even remember seeing the other move, but Bobby was suddenly aware that there was a hand on his shoulder, pulling him down before feeling a warm peck on his cheek; he might have even returned it, had he not noticed a bit more weight in the basket, "I'd hate for you to think I'm using you," the Scotsman murmured, leaning back on his feet and letting go of his grip on the hunter. His hand slipping down so it was resting on his forearm instead, which Bobby paid little mind to as he glanced to see what was placed in the carrier.

"Crowley, you get more money in a week than I do in a year," and although it was a sad truth, Bobby found himself chuckling, "If anything, I'd be using _you_."

"If that's the case you're doing a terrible job at stealing my money," Crowley sniped playfully, his expression light, "especially considering you pay for everything, and then some."

"It's all part of the plan," the hunter replied over his shoulder as he stepped out of the aisle, moving onto the next, "I get you to trust me, and soon enough you'll give me your credit card number and then I'll bleed you dry."

"Ah, ah ah, telling the victim your plan?" Crowley shook his head disapprovingly, "You're worse at this than I thought. Your retched scheme will never prevail," perhaps there was supposed to be something else that followed that statement, perhaps not; regardless, it never came once he took a good look around the aisle they stopped in. There wasn't food here, but rather little supplies hanging up, and left over decorations from New Years. There were a few mirrors, some candles, as well as office supplies- many of which were broken but they paid it little mind.

Bobby glanced over the items before his eyes landed on a leather bound notebook; he _did_ need a new one, didn't he? His current books are already filled out, and he's been using sticky notes to hold the pages he's scribbled on. Shrugging he pulled it off the shelf and grabbed a pack of felt tip pens, tossing them into the basket absently. There was a faint chuckle coming from his far left, making to turn as he saw Crowley standing at a small booth.

His hands were shuffling through a bin of seventy cent movies dating back to some time in the 60's when Bobby finally caught up to where he was standing, he was holding a cartoon Dracula remake that was sitting in a thin case, and in his other hand he was holding an off branded 'Little Mermaid' movie, where she's blonde rather than a red head.

"Why are there movies here?" Crowley asked bemusedly, "and why are half of the packaging's ripped?"

"Kids, probably," Bobby answered, scanning his eyes over the films, "and that's a good question."

"And why is there a selection of thin, black off-leather belts here too?" the Scotsman scrunched up his nose, "who stops at a twenty-four seven place and decides they need a belt."

"Someone in a hurry," the hunter shrugged, "who knows, people are strange."

Crowley snorted, "can you imagine? A man on his way to a business meeting and having to stop at a 7-Eleven because he forgot his belt."

Bobby made a soft amused sound in the back of his throat, "more like a kid on their way to a job interview."

"Or a pair of rowdy youth's trying something new," that got a surprised laugh out of the hunter, who shot him a dirty look in spite of this.

"Are you done yet?" Bobby asked, instead of making to comment on the others statement, "did you get everythin' you needed?"

Crowley nodded, letting his eyes fall into the basket before sorting them around, "We've got Ice cream, whipped cream.. pens and a book?" he tilted his head, "I'm not sure how you plan to eat that, but please fill me in once you do."

Bobby rolled his eyes but allowed the other to continue to rummage to make sure everything was there. Once he was satisfied, Crowley grabbed his forearm and pulled him to the front; he didn't have to, of course, because Bobby would have followed anyways, but Crowley had a habit of pulling him along as though the hunter would be lost without him. Bobby wondered if it was a subconscious thing, or whether Crowley just liked knowing that he could, but he didn't question it aloud.

"You boys find everything alright?" the woman at the register asked, pulling the content out of the carrier once Bobby had lifted the basket to the counter, and making to scan. She had a soft voice, with gentle features and a sullen face; her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her eyes looked a bit sunken in. Dark circles were under her lids, yet she didn't exactly look as if she were inconvenienced with them walking in, but rather just tired and ready to go home. Bobby felt somewhat guilty for bothering her.

"Yes, thank you," Crowley responded, as Bobby began pulling his wallet out of his pocket, slipping the women the money as she finished ringing them up.

She glanced down at the ice cream, before glancing back up at the men with a knowing look in the eye, "how far along is she?"

Bobby blinked up at her in confusion before Crowley spoke up, "Pardon?"

"Your wife?" She began again, "sorry if I'm mistaken, but I remember when I had my first baby and I'd send my hubby out to get me some midnight snacks," she gave a gentle chuckle, before scanning the last item, "so how far along is she?"

Bobby's brows furrowed, his mouth parting and almost said that there wasn't anyone, not exactly sure why she was making assumptions until, again, Crowley spoke up before he could, "Going onto our second trimester by the end of the week," he said with a small, almost serene smile, "It's our third child, and.. Renée's becoming more spontaneous with her cravings."

Bobby blinked at him but either Crowley hadn't noticed or refused to acknowledge him just yet. It didn't seem to matter, however, because the woman behind the counter had him at full attention.

"Oh my, I know," she hummed, grabbing the bags and carefully placing them inside, being deliberately slow to get out what she wants to say, "I was all about cake for _months_ , but now I can't even take a bite of a _pancake_ without feeling sick."

"Renée's that way about anything healthy," Bobby had to bite down _hard_ against the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling, "she can't look at anything green without going green herself." The woman laughed, a short hiccup of a laugh before sliding over their change, which Bobby pocketed as he reached for their bags.

"Take care, you two!" she called from behind them as they began leaving, and Crowley shot back another friendly goodbye. Once they were far enough away and closer to the car, Bobby let himself breathe, biting back his laugh.

"Renée?" he snorted incredulously, and Crowley shrugged at him, shooting him a smile over his shoulder as he made to climb back into the car.

"First name that came to mind that was close to yours," he paused, "well, second close. I wasn't about to tell a stranger I was married to a women named Roberta."

The hunter was pushing down his smile with little success, handing the Scotsman the bags, "What's wrong with that name?"

"Oh nothing," Crowley waved off, "seemed a bit too close to Robert, and decided not to take the chance of her ever finding out your name."

Bobby raised his brow at him, rounding the car and getting into his seat. The inside was warm, which was nice for a change, and watched absently as Crowley sat the bag's by his feet. Bobby pulled the car into gear, "seem's like a sort of specific thing for her to do, don't you think?" he asked, looking into his rear view mirror, and finally pulling out of the lot. Crowley pulled is seat belt on with a click, before sighing once he realized that Bobby must have missed something.

"Pinkie," he said after a second, "right hand. There was a gold and silver band, and I didn't have to get close to know it says ' _Separately United_ '." Bobby glanced at him before forcing his eyes back on the road.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Abaddon wears one," Crowley responded, "her and Metatron. I'd recognize those designs anywhere, mostly because she likes to flaunt she's part of that terrible little group up on main street."

Bobby paused a moment, and then, "Wait, are you talking about Little Gospel?"

"Of course," Bobby heard slight ruffling to his side, and then the crinkle of a plastic bag being moved, "that cult doesn't even deserve to call themselves religious," and this was the first time all night where he even sounded distasteful, "they're one of the reasons that something as peaceful as religion is supposed to be, has such a terrible rap to it."

"I thought you weren't religious?"

"I'm not," he sighed, "doesn't mean I can't resent people who squander.. _someones_ sense of safety and comfort." Crowley shifted in his seat, clicking his tongue, "it's actually sort of sad, when you think about it. Did you see how quickly she rushed to assume one of us was married and had a child on the way? See, how exactly did she reach so blindly at _straws_ to deny the fact that we could simply be spending time together and buying treats?" Bobby shook his head at him, "It's depressing how far into left field she jumped into order to justify to herself what was going on."

"You know," he continued, "she could have just as easily not said a thing, and never think of it again, but she had to ask. She _had_ to know that we fit into that.. that- that perfect _mold_ through a glass that she was seeing society in."

"S'just how she was raised."

"No, no no," Crowley snapped, "no, I was raised on a similar bases, but I didn't turn out like that. Being raised one way or the other is your parents putting impressions on you, and your peers telling you to think one way or another, and there isn't much breathing room to come up with your own bloody ideals, I should know. But that doesn't excuse actions, and I was fortunate enough to find my own way, and discerning what _I_ believed in, and what I didn't, and there's an age that you hit, where you have to figure out whether or not saying something is necessary, or even wrong. And you'd be lying if you claimed that these people _don't know better_."

"I never said that,"

"Never said you did, love," Crowley placed his hand on the other's leg, just above his knee and gave him a reassuring squeeze, "that's not what I'm saying. What I'm _saying_ is that these people are aware that they're hurting other's. They're aware that they're going the extra mile to make sure the world fits in their image, and that woman at the counter was trying to make sure we fit too."

Bobby looked over to find Crowley looking through the windshield, watching the road and looking rather troubled, "I'm sorry it upset you."

"I'm not upset," Crowley tapped his finger against the hunters thigh, "just frustrated. I know enough about them to know that evading questions isn't particularly clever, and telling the truth often times isn't in your best interest. They're dangerous people, Robert, and I'd rather not be on the receiving end of their idiocy."

Bobby was silent for a long moment, "it's crazy how you got all that from a question," he didn't say that to be patronizing, but more out of honesty, because honestly, he didn't even catch that when she asked. Just assumed she misinterpreted the situation, and it was late and she looked tired, so he could brush it off as her losing a bit of her filter; either that or she was always that direct. He didn't catch that she was wearing a ring, nor did he catch the vibe she was giving off.

If anything, Bobby was impressed that Crowley was honestly _that_ analytical.

"S'just something you pick up in my line of work," he stated offhandedly, trailing his hand lazily up the hunters thigh, who made a point to keep his eyes on the road, even as he felt heat rush to his cheeks, and thanked whomever was listening that it was still dark outside.

They drove the rest of the way back in silence, save for the low hum of the engine. Bobby pulled back up to the Salvage Yard, and carried the bags for the other, trailing him out of the cold and back into his warm house. Bobby was placing the bags onto his kitchen table, while Crowley had set off on a search for spoons and bowls. The hunter pulled them out of their bags, and grabbed the mint chocolate and pushed it to the side; Crowley grabbed the Moose tracks and pulled them with the other, before grabbing the spare two and placing them in the other's freezer, scooting a few things around so that they'd fit.

"Darling, could you run and grab a few blankets?" Crowley asked over his shoulder as he pulled two bowls out from one of the hunters higher cabinets. Bobby grunted his acknowledgement before placing what he was holding, back onto the table, pulling off his shoes while he was at it, before heading upstairs.

Rumsfeld greeted him once he reached the top step and trailed after him as he stepped over to his closet. Pulling out a few folded up and clean blankets, he made his way back to the first floor, the Rottweiler following him down so he could settle and sleep in front of his old oak desk. The light to his living room was now on, and Crowley was gesturing for him to place the blankets onto the couch with an ice cream scoop in his hand; Bobby didn't ask questions, and simply did as he was asked.

Shortly after, once he unfolded them and sort of draped them over the couch, Crowley was in the other room swearing under his breath as he tried and struggled to get the ice cream into the bowl. "S'too solid," he muttered bitterly, once Bobby swatted his hands away and did it for him.

"Sure it is," he replied, using a bit of force to get a few scoops out; well, Crowley wasn't _wrong_.

He portioned out the bowls, and gave himself a bit less than what he gave Crowley, seeing as he wasn't really all that in the mood for ice cream, but Crowley didn't want to eat it all by himself. He didn't have an issue with humouring the bastard, and let Crowley shake the can of whipped cream before placing a fair amount on both; and by fair, he means maybe a bit too much, but Bobby didn't comment out of amusement and the pleased expression on the Scotsman's face once he finally dug his spoon into his bowl.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Crowley asked, slipping his way past the hunter and into his living room. He plopped down on the couch, patting the spot next to him for the hunter to join him. Bobby grabbed his own bowl, stepping up next to the other before taking his own seat, unintentionally a bit closer than he had originally anticipated, with their hips brushing once he leaned back.

"It's three- erm.. now _four_ in the morning," Bobby didn't sound upset, and honestly he's lost his exasperated edge about all this an hour ago, "aren't you tired?"

"Of course I'm tired," Crowley replied carefully, measurably keeping his eyes down onto his lap where his bowl was sitting before taking a bite. He was quiet for a few moments, "Just having a hard time sleeping," he admitted, "sort of hoped this might help," there was a soft edge to his tone that suggested disappointment, "usually does, anyways."

Bobby was quiet as he watched Crowley bring the spoon up to his lips and back again, the gesture looking somewhat mechanical.

"Does this, uh," Bobby returned the others gaze once the Scotsman looked up at him at the sound of his voice, effectively throwing him off because for some reason Crowley looked as if he already knew what the other was going to say, and was already preparing himself to answer. "happen-? Er-" Bobby cleared his throat, letting his eyes drop to the other's lap to will himself to remember what he was going to say, "does this.. happen often?" Bobby glanced back up, "you know, the midnight runs?"

"I already answered this question."

"Not truthfully," and Crowley looked somewhat surprised at the other's statement, but never made an attempt to correct him.

"Crowley," Bobby began, exhaling shortly, and placing the cold bowl by his feet because he felt ridiculous holding it and trying to have this conversation, "Look, you might have everyone else fooled that you're in tip top shape, but you ain't foolin' me," Crowley wasn't making an attempt to reach his eyes, and it was the first time Bobby noticed that often times he wouldn't when he would begin digging. Anytime he'd bring something up that at all related to something that might be out of shape with him, he can never reach his eyes, and Bobby wished he'd just stop and level with him for once.

Sometimes it felt like a barrier that Crowley put up to protect himself, but Bobby didn't know why he always put it up when he talks to him, or why he feels it necessary to hide. Not like he was ashamed of something, but more like he was worried to mess something up; maybe it was to mess _this_ up, or even perhaps something else entirely, but Bobby had no way of knowing until Crowley reached his eyes.

Crowley always just had a hard time reaching his eyes.

There was a gentle puff of breath that slipped out of the Scotsman's lips, yet he was still quiet and still unresponsive, but he stopped eating and for a good moment, Bobby thought he wasn't going to respond at all. Crowley surprised him once he set his own bowl down by his feet and then hoisted his feet onto the couch and crossed his legs, Bobby followed with a curious gaze, and moved a little to give the other a little bit of space until the shorter man was facing him; but his eyes were on his hands sitting in his lap, and his lips were puckered somewhat in thought before licking his lower lip.

"You're right," he finally said, stretching out his fingers over his pajama bottoms before allowing them to curl in and rest on his knee's, "I think, if.. if we're going to do this. Then I should be.. to be completely clear, I should come clean," the statement sounded more directed to himself than to the hunter, but Bobby listened anyhow, "Robert, I haven't been completely honest with you, and I'm going to set a few facts straight."

Bobby didn't say anything, but nodded for the other to continue, pulling one of his own legs onto the couch and folding it in front of him so he could face the other a bit more directly. Crowley was chewing on his words, trying to map them out so nothing came out wrong or backwards; figuring that any sort of relationship shouldn't be built with lies concreting the foundation. And it'd be a shame for something to catch up with him that the other man didn't know about; it was better to come clean, than risk what ever it was that they had.

A relationship.

An actual relationship that didn't deserve any of his pettiness.

Crowley took in a sharp breath, "Do you remember," he began slowly, letting his eyes trail over the wooden floor boards of the hunters home, mapping out the fading and the scratches along the surface, "when I came here, after you had fixed my car, and we drank Craig in your kitchen?"

Bobby paused a second, nodding minimally; it had been the second time they've spoken face to face, a little over a year ago now. Feel's like an eternity away, now that he thinks about it. It was a nice chat, and the company had been pleasant.

Crowley nodded in return, "There are a few things I said to you back then, that weren't completely true, and I think you deserve the truth," he paused, "it's nothing..- it's nothing _big_ , nothing _life threatening_ , I didn't escape from some sort of mafia or have a target on my head," he squinted his eyes at the hunter, "just so you know. Much smaller things. S'actually a bit personal, and I can't believe I'm about to say any of it," with that said, with a bit of incredulous exasperation, he rubbed the palms of his hands against his face, before brushing his fingers through his hair then letting them drop back to his lap, "so I apologize ahead of time. I didn't know you very well back then, and I wasn't exactly.. _willing_ to talk about certain things truthfully. Yet, back then, it didn't really occur to me that this-" Crowley gestured between the two of them, "might happen."

When Bobby still didn't say anything, Crowley made to take a deep breath, picking at the bottom of his pajama's before setting himself to start.

"I told you," Crowley began, licking his lips, "that my father was a tailor in Canisbay Scotland. That is not true," the Scotsman shifted before continuing, "honestly, I've no idea who that man is. I've personally never met him and my mother never spoke about him. Figured it was an accident, one night thing, and I was a product of carelessness," Crowley shifted in his seat, keeping his eyes lowered because he knew if he looked up now at whatever expression that hunter had on his face, it'd just throw him off and he was _really_ trying to keep his thoughts in order.

"It was actually my _Grandfather_ who ran the tailoring business, and my mother was a seamstress that worked under him. Both very religious, very manipulative, but loving none the less. My grandfather was the only father figure I had in my life, and he was a fairly poor one at that, but you can't simply pick and choose family, and I didn't have a great deal of options available to me at the time." Crowley shifted, "I _did_ come to America for better opportunities, but not exactly in the light that I was shining it on."

Bobby raised his brow, but Crowley didn't see it, or rather ignored it and went on, "I did leave Scotland because I didn't want to join the family business, I can't stand being at someone else's foot and heel, and allowing these self righteous idiots that surrounded me to tell me what to do."

"When I was younger," he stated abruptly, "as I've mentioned before, I grew up in a very conservative and very God-fearing little town, and growing up my mother always knew I was a bit different from the rest of the children. Although it wasn't _different_ , exactly, but rather something that didn't confirm to her norm. I was just a child at the time, and I just didn't see anything wrong. Least not in the way she did," Crowley cleared his throat once he realized his tone was growing soft, "the point is, as I've told you before, she would shove me into that church as if it were a cure for my, per say _problem_ and although I never knew what she told the minister, he'd always pay close attention to me. Pick me away from other groups of people, and would sit me down for these long chats that I use to eat right up. Use to.. use to really believe that stuff, you know?" Bobby didn't know, not really anyways, but, again nodded none the less.

"So," he went on, "I'd listen and I'd listen, until I realized there were holes in his speech, trying to understand the things he said so clearly and without hesitation. It became repetitive, the things he would say would contradict another statement. Yet he was so _sure_ of himself and what he was saying.. it sort of frightened me." Bobby resisted the urge to grab his hands, biting his tongue and forced himself to stay quiet, "It was that fear of letting the blind lead the blind, and I was tired of being blinded. He was a good man with good intentions, and it took me a long time to see that, but honestly; he was clueless."

"He didn't understand the vastness of what he claimed to believe, he didn't understand the words falling from his mouth. The repetitiveness never occurred to him, the controversy. It was one of the main things that forced me to shut out what he was saying, and forced me to shut out anyone who ever talked out of their ass about a subject they didn't understand. Taking advise from _morons_ , or demands from people who didn't know what they were talking about. That's why I left." Bobby thought that maybe Crowley would glance up at him, but the man kept his eyes lowered, "I left because I was afraid I'd have to take orders my whole life, and in something so absurd and mundane and _simple_. Oh _God_ it was so simple, I wanted nothing to do with it. I could do _nothing_ and go _nowhere_ while I was working a job that meant little to nothing to me. What a life well wasted."

"Your mother probably didn't see it that way," Bobby murmured, "with the job, I mean."

Crowley smiled faintly, "no, she didn't," he leaned back in his seat, "loves sewing, very good at it too. She could make a lovely gown within a few hours, but she preferred to make hats."

"Why hats?"

Crowley shrugged, "I've no idea, s'just a preference of her's, I suppose. She often times would use me as her dummy to try out anything new she made, to see whether or not she could sell it. She often times would scrap an idea, but with the few she kept- very elegant."

"And you came to America to avoid that?"

"It's her happy future and dream," Crowley finally glanced up at the hunter, "not mine."

The Scotsmen scooted a little closer to the hunter, feeling a bit more confident in himself as he wrapped his hands around the other's, dropping his eyes down to the hunters shirt, "besides, mother dearest and I haven't been on speaking terms since I left. She never agreed with my ah- _provocative_ lifestyle, and had tried to guilt me into staying. It didn't work, of course, but she certainly tried."

"Why America?" Bobby found himself asking, "what's so great about here?"

Crowley didn't answer at first, his lips parting, "it's far away," he breathed, "far away from them, from her, the chapel. I.. I feel safer here," and he said it as if he couldn't believe he said it aloud, "funny enough, I feel safe from them, and their disappointment."

"Do you think they'd still be that way?" Bobby made a offhanded sound, "you know, seeing how far you've come?"

"It's funny you should ask," the Scotsman responded, "I found myself thinking about that same question a few months ago, if.. you know, if they'd be proud of what I am. And honestly? I don't think so-- well, I don't think that they wouldn't be _impressed_ , but in the same sense, I feel as if they wouldn't care that _I_ had made these accomplishments, but rather that _their_ bloodline did something, and _their_ kin. Not me. Yet, if I'm going to be completely honest about this, I can't help but find it sad, and I can't help but realize I just don't care anymore."

Crowley squeezed Bobby's hands, running his thumbs gently over the other's knuckles, "I think it has to do with them simply admiring what I've done, but not who I am," and Crowley paused because he was honestly trying to find a better way to word that, "you see, I think they'd see me in a suit, and pat me on the shoulder, but the moment they saw me.. like _this_ -" Crowley raised their hands slightly to emphasize what he was saying, "see me.. comfortable, per say, happy. They'd never approve, because I'm happy with another man, and to them, my choices are undesirable."

"So, I keep my achievements to myself," he looked up at the hunter one last time, tilting his head, "because I don't need their approval, and I don't need their love. I have everything in the world I could possibly want," there was a moment and a shift and Crowley had pushed himself forward onto his knee's, his hands sliding to wrap around the hunters shoulders, pressing a quick kiss against the others mouth, "and that includes you."

Bobby blinked up at him, a smile touching his lips as he reciprocated the action. There was another shift, and Crowley was seated by his hip, but his legs were draped over the hunters lap, and his back was pressed against the head of the couch. A sigh touched his lips and his hands snapped to his face where he began rubbing against the tension there.

He coughed as he dropped his hands to his lap and looked up at the hunter, "Alright, darling. Your turn."

Bobby raised his brow, "my turn for what?"

"Quid pro quo, dearest," Crowley crossed his arms lazily, "I gave you a little bit of myself, and now it's your turn to do the same."

The hunter looked at him carefully before shaking his head, "I've never been untruthful with you," yet he didn't sound accusing when he said it, but more along the lines of stating he wasn't sure what to tell him. Crowley brushed the comment off.

"No, but you've been withholding information, there's a difference."

"Clearly," Bobby sighed, "still doesn't tell me what you want to know."

Crowley paused, thinking something over before nodding his head gently, "how about we start with something small, and work our way up, yes?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I dropped a bit of a personal bomb shell, but that was simply just clearing the air. I want to know a bit more about yourself, and I want you to know a bit about me.. go back and forth, yes?" Bobby watched him with squinted, distrusting eyes, before Crowley rolled his own, " _alright_ , alright, you don't _have_ to answer anything you're uncomfortable with. You wanker."

"Better," Bobby relaxed back a bit, his lower back resting against the armrest, "so, you want to start?"

"Of course," he began, measuring the other out before parting his lips, "Why'd you never remarry?"

"Out of all the things you could have asked, and that was your take-away?"

"Answer the question."

The hunter sighed heavily, fighting the urge to rub the frustrations out of his _own_ face, swallowing thickly with a huff, "I don't know, ah- I didn't want to?"

"Now, who's being the dishonest one?"

"S'not dishonest."

"It's not a full answer either," Crowley furrowed his brow, "C'mon love, it's a generic question, and I opened my _heart_ out to you, the least you could do is roll up your sleeve."

Bobby groaned, but knew the other had a point. He also knew that he could stop at any time, and Crowley, most likely, wouldn't press, and for that he was grateful; but he was right, he did need to open up a bit. Swallowing down his own baggage wasn't good for either one of them, and-- Bobby stopped.

"Ask a different question," he eventually muttered, and when Crowley raised his brow, Bobby brushed it off, "just- do me this one favour, and ask something else."

Crowley looked withdrawn, as if he'd opened up a can of worms he had no idea what to do with, but decided against pressing. "Alright," he shifted in his seat, keeping his eyes steady on the others face, obviously unsure of himself and obviously not ready to drop the subject; Bobby didn't doubt he'd bring it up again later, but for now he said nothing, "I suppose that means you're not going to answer me if I ask what's going on in the closet upstairs?"

Bobby blinked, "what the hell are you talking about?"

The hunter couldn't tell if Crowley looked sheepish or unsure, but decided it didn't matter when he overall looked apologetic when he began to speak, "When I was looking for those pajama pants you were talking about, I couldn't remember whether you had said dresser or closet. I personally keep a good variety in both places in my apartment, having mine folded on a top shelf in my closet, and on the lower in my own dresser, so.. naturally, I checked the dresser, and although I picked something out, I wanted to see if you had any other pairs that weren't in plaid or tartan, so I opened up the closet."

When Crowley didn't say anything for a moment, Bobby realized he was waiting for him to say something, but Bobby was trying to remember what would have been so strange for him to bring it up until it hit him.

"I didn't.. I didn't _touch_ anything, if it makes you feel better," Crowley continued, once he noticed that Bobby wasn't responding, "Took me a moment to realize I probably shouldn't have been in there, but.. found it odd, I suppose. Closed it after a moment when I also realized I couldn't stop sneezing once I've unsettled all the dust."

Bobby was still quiet, and he knew it was making Crowley squirm because that look on his face suggested he believed he overstepped a boundary somewhere along the line, and didn't know how to fix it. It took a bit too long, perhaps, for him to realize he was taking his time to come up with some sort of response, but he just- he just didn't know what to say.

"I know," he said after an extended pause, and Crowley looked confused at him because he couldn't seem to decide what the other knew. "I know it's kinda, ah- kinda weird," Bobby was the one to shift this time, and the Scotsman adjusted his legs over him. There was a drawn out silence, where he wasn't sure where he was going, but Crowley was listening to him, much like Bobby had done before, and it gave him a bit of courage to say the one thing he hadn't been able to say to anybody; and not for lack of trying, but rather a lack of heart on his part to get the words out the way he wanted them to.

"It's probably unhealthy, and I know that," Bobby began with a low shrug, rubbing the back of his neck "but _God_ she was my everything, and after I lost her I- I wasn't- I didn't know what to _do_ with myself, and I-" he was losing track of his thoughts, and the hunter was having a hard time wording to the other in a way where he could understand; so that he could really _get_ what he was trying to say. Bobby stopped talking, licking his lips as he brushed his hand over his jaw before starting once again.

"Did I ever tell you," he started again, "that my dad was an abusive man?" he looked towards Crowley who was quiet, looking at him with a sort of curiosity that allowed Bobby to find his barrings long enough to catch that the other was shaking his head, "angry bastard. Always had his hands in a fist, and a bone to pick with the world, but it wasn't so bad at first, you know?" He imagined maybe Crowley had some idea, but maybe he didn't, "when I was a little kid, he only shouted every now and again, but he wasn't so bad. My mom even seemed to like him, and things were fine, least til he began drinking, that is."

"I was around fifteen, maybe sixteen, and I had stolen some of his liquor. I can't remember to this day why I thought it was a good idea-- I didn't even _drink_ the stuff, but I think I thought that maybe if I hid it from him, he wouldn't even notice it was gone. Might even be sober for a few hours before running out and getting a new bottle, but that's not at all what went down." Bobby kept his eyes on the other's lap, where he watched Crowley idly messing with the strings of the pajama pants that he was wearing, and the little movement somewhat calmed the hunters erratic heartbeat.

"I remember him throwing shit, trying to find it when I left one morning. He'd just gotten back from work, when he finally found it, and I uh, I hadn't been home at the time, but when I got back from.. school, I think, I remember seeing my mom sitting quietly at the dinner table, and my father was sitting with that damn bottle in front of him, and some papers laying out on the table. They didn't say anything when I walked into the room, and I remember he uh- he pointed to the seat across from him, and told me to sit down."

"He told me he was ah- ' _worried_ ' about me," he breathed, "ah- well, long story short, he wanted to teach me a lesson for stealing his booze, and had created this elaborate story about me. Mind you, my old man was a respected guy back then, and I was his good for nothin' kid, so you can probably imagine how my word didn't mean much," Bobby coughed, "regardless, he told.. he got talkin' to some people about how I was a reckless kid, always out late and drinking with my friends, and since it was back in the late 80's, it wasn't uncommon for kids to be, y'know- _kids_. I never left the house, let alone went to _parties_ but nobody was 'naive enough to listen to a kid. So, after all was said and done, he wanted to make sure I never laid a hand on his stuff again. So, he tossed me in a rehab center for a few months."

"He did _what?_ "

"Yeah," Bobby breathed, glancing up from the others hands to look at the incredulous expression on Crowley's face, "you wouldn't even _believe_ how many people my age were there, because some worried parent tossed them in. Most of which probably needed to be there, but over all? Great deal of normal kids with nothing wrong with them; probably took a few sips of some bad brandy and got tossed in while getting caught, because ' _kids these days_ '."

Crowley opened his mouth a few times, before closing them repeatedly, "he tossed you into _rehab_ ," he began slowly, "because you _hid_ his whiskey?"

Bobby nodded, and Crowley made an exasperated sound. "Did you.. did you tell anyone? What he did? Didn't they test you?"

The hunter shook his head, "Nah, no tests. Again, we were in a small town and this was still the 80's-- they didn't feel the need to, and nobody would listen to me anyhow. Besides, it could have been worse. Which brings me to why I brought it up," Bobby cleared his throat, "you see, it was that night when I got home that he tossed me in, and Karen and I- we were close. Had known her since as long as I can remember -- Called her almost every day, and we had made plans that weekend to go see this cheesy flick at the movies that had just come out. Can't remember the name of it for the life of me, but that's beside the point," Bobby waved his hand absently, " Anyways, she must have gotten worried or somethin', seeing as I hadn't gotten a hold of her for some time, so she drove down to my house when my dad was at work, and asked my mom where I was. She told her, and the night we were supposed to head down to see the movie, I heard a knock on my window-- an' mind you, I was on the forth floor of this huge ass building."

There was a smile nudging at the corner of the Scotsman's mouth, hiding it behind the palm of his hand. A small laugh escaped Bobby's lips as he recalled the event, "Karen she.. she had, in the matter of _two_ days, planned this break in, and had - _somehow_ \- convinced two of her friends to help her distract the guard up front- which, her friend ended up marrying a few years later- and another to drive her over as a sort of quick escape if things got a bit crazy. You should have _seen_ her," he smiled, "she had found this- she found a ladder almost high enough to reach my floor, and had this bag of rocks by her hip to toss at my window so I could unlocked it and help her inside."

"She had been so _furious_ at my dad for locking me up- and this is..- this is the kind of girl who was never late to class, never swore, never disobeyed orders. Very clean cut, loved to bake, and always got so lost in a book that she won't even realize you were talkin' to her unless you took the book away. I mean she was.. just a straight forward, good person. But she scaled the building, and broke in, and when I had asked her what the hell she thought she was doing, she looked me in the eye and told me that we weren't missing our movie night."

"That's insane," Crowley breathed, his expression almost unreadable, "how often- did she ever get caught?"

Bobby shook his head, "No, she didn't do it excessively for anyone to find out. Only when she could, but when she did, we'd often just- y'know, lay there and talk until she had to leave or until the sun almost came up. Sometimes she'd bring in things like magazines to keep me occupied." Bobby glanced over to his desk, his eyes falling on Rumsfeld who wasn't paying much attention to anything, "one time she brought a gallon of orange juice, but no cups with a bag of these almost stale chips, and another time it was two pens and a yearbook from our freshman year of high school."

"It's the little things, you know?" Bobby finally said, "Even though breaking into rehab to see me wasn't exactly a uh, little thing, but the point is she made the effort to see me," the hunter paused, pursuing his lips, "She used to pack two lunches for school because I never had lunch money and I never had anything to eat, or when I'd call her when things were getting bad at home and she'd show up ten or so minutes later with some sort of excuse of having to work on a project with me, even when we didn't have any classes together. Karen was-" he paused, chewing the inside of his cheek, "she- she made an effort for me, and nobody had ever made an effort for me."

"So.. the clothes," Crowley started slowly, "why you never remarried-"

"It's because I couldn't," Bobby admitted, and for the first time in twenty years, he was saying so out loud, "It's because I had never met someone who.. who would be willing to do the things she's done for me, or someone who I felt alright doing the things I've done for her." Karen had been his everything. She had held his hand through so many years and so many fights, that losing her had been the most devastating thing he had ever felt, and he didn't need to voice that aloud for Crowley to understand what he was saying. Bobby knew that moving on was easier said than done; and he knew, to his absolute core, that he'd never be over her.

But that didn't mean he couldn't make room for someone else.

And on some level, he figured Crowley knew that.

"What about you?" Bobby asked, leaning his head back, "have you ever had someone like that?"

"Do you mean have I ever had someone willing to break into rehab to see me?" Crowley chuckled, shaking his head, "honestly? No. I've never really, uhm.." he licked his lips, "I've never really been in love before. Not in the way you have, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've fallen _in_ love with the idea of _being_ in love, but I've never had that White Picket Fence of a person. I've had flings, and drunken nights, but never someone steady. Never really a real relationship."

Bobby looked at him with a bit of offhanded confusion, before realization dawned on him, "I'm your first..-" he didn't really need to finish the sentence to see the slight tint of red against the others cheeks.

"You're my first," the other admitted quietly, averting his eyes to the wooden floor boards, "the first _real_ one anyways." First one that wasn't in it for sex or for money, first one who was in it for him and not what he has to offer.

Bobby made a thoughtful sound, and Crowley couldn't help but look up and figure out why, at least until he felt the other's hand stop his own from fiddling with his pant strings and held them instead, "Well, that makes two of us then," Crowley watched the others fingers as the hunter was the one to initiate them interlacing for what seemed to be the first time since all this sort of began, "I haven't been with anyone in a little over twenty years, and you haven't really been with anyone ever," the hunter chuckled, "means we're both pretty clueless on what we're supposed to do."

"Our best," Crowley responded, "and we'll make it work. Doesn't seem too hard."

"No, but it's effort you've got to be willing to give or else it's not really worth being a part of," the hunter admitted, "but I think we'll do alright."

There was a small, comfortable pause, where they sat there unmoving; both had their eyes lowered to their hands, until Crowley broke away and pulled at the blankets hanging over the back of the couch, bringing it down with a tug to cover his shoulders before spreading out the wing and draping it over the hunter's shoulder as well. "So," he began, "just to be clear here, we're in a relationship, aren't we?"

Bobby snorted, "what? You want an official declaration?"

"I want confirmation, but I have nothing against you getting down on one knee with doves flying out of your ball cap if that helps."

The hunter shot him a dry look, biting back a laugh and down turned his eyes like before. It was almost as if he was contemplating, and perhaps he was, but it was short lived and soon Bobby simply nodded, "Yeah, I think that's what's happening."

Crowley was the one to snort this time, "you think?"

"I'm almost positive."

"You've _got_ to do better than that."

Bobby groaned, "I don't think there's a better way to say it," he mumbled, waving his hand around in small circles, "ain't one of us supposed to ah- ask?"

Crowley shook his head faintly, "Not at our age- er, not really, anyways. That's something usually reserved for the beautiful youths," he leaned over a little, crossing his legs at the ankle still draped over the hunters lap, who tilted his head at the man.

"Then what's that make us?"

" _We_ are the product of a terrible breed of humans, you and I," the Scotsman replied, "we are the ugly souls that remain after everyone's packed up at the end of the day and gone home."

Crowley had a distinctive tired look in his eye as he spoke, like it's something he's thought about a million times, and yet still doesn't quite completely understand what it means or what it could possible mean for the two of them. What that makes _them_ , in this large unfortunate planet they live in. It was comfortingly vague in a way where it wasn't definitive nor was it directive; it was open ended in a way that suggested that, although they were ugly souls, they were ugly souls that drifted away from everyone else, and perhaps that means something remotely good in foresight, perhaps it doesn't.

Perhaps it didn't matter.

Bobby made a thoughtful sound, before dropping his rough hand to the others knee, brushing his thumb absently against the fabric, "Ugly ain't so bad."

"No," Crowley chuckled, letting his hand fall from their resting place against his lap, and onto the front of the hunters shirt; fingers moving deftly over imaginary specs of dirt, picking at the fabric, "not really."

Neither one of them could pin point exactly how long they chatted; not with Crowley's legs lying over the hunters, with his hand sitting comfortable on the other mans knee, or with the blanket covering their shoulders and draping over the edge of the couch; and certainly not with Bobby asking questions about the other's tattoo's, or even with the other's cry of distress once he realized his ice cream had melted.

The soft blue hue of the coming rising sun reminded them that they hadn't slept much that night, and once the hunters window was illuminated in a golden glow, Bobby realized he didn't feel all that tired to begin with. Somehow, during their long conversation, they didn't feel the time as it slipped away from them, even when their speech became a bit hazy, and the blankets started getting tangle up among lazy limbs and bodies.

"What time is it?" Crowley asked, his head having taken rest on the hunters shoulder and chest, somewhat smushing his cheek; the found themselves lying down this time around, or mostly lying anyways. Bobby was still propped somewhat upright with his back against the armrest, while Crowley had taken the initiative to lay on him; half of his body resting on the couch, while the other half was pressed against the hunter's side, who didn't seem to mind.

Bobby made a humming noise; glancing down at his watch, he winced, "It's eight in the morning," he sighed, bringing one of his hands to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"M'sorry," Crowley muttered, adjusting himself so his hand tucked under the hunters body comfortably as a yawn touched his lips.

"What for?" Bobby murmured back, laxly stretching out his arm that _wasn't_ being laid on by a grown man.

"Keepin' you up all night," he replied, "I know _I_ have problems sleeping sometimes, but I really shouldn't be putting it off on you."

Bobby chuckled, "trust me, you ain't doing anything to me that I haven't already done to myself," he didn't have the best sleeping schedule either, so really, this was nothing, "and me and you gotta talk about you apologizin' all the time," he said with a hum, turning his head to look down at the man, but was only greeted by his soft tuffs of hair against his cheek, "I'm the _last_ person you should ever apologize to..- _'specially_ when you haven't done anythin'."

"Sorry," the Scotsman said again, "S'old habit."

"Well, as my first decree as your new.. er-"

"Partner," Crowley hummed pleasantly, his voice low and sounding almost like a purr.

"Yeah," the hunter snapped his finger, "that. And as my first decree, I'm going to help you break that habit, alright?"

Crowley smiled lucidly, "what ever for? Is my politeness killing you, love?"

"Course not," the hunter grumbled, "course not..- just, ah, you just say it when you don't have to. Back at the market, you apologized for pulling me out of bed, y'know? I don't want you to feel sorry for.. for _imposin'_ on me, alright? It's give and take at this point, and I have no problem with you being the taker, if that wasn't already clear."

"But I'm _always_ taking from you," and Crowley sounded nearly disappointed, "I imagine you'll get sick of it soon enough."

"Don't be an idjit," Bobby snapped, although there was a lack of venom behind it, "if I remember correctly, it was _you_ who brought that fancy drink of yours over here as repayment back when I first fixed your car, and it was _you_ who took action back at the library, and at the Christmas party. It was also you who called me up first, and made me dinner a few times in counting. So, honestly? I think you give plenty."

"Say's you," that being said, Bobby felt a light shift on his side, "how about we go get breakfast, and I pay this time?" the hunter glanced downwards a ways to see Crowley propped up slightly to look at him, "then the next time, you can if you want. Sort of like taking turns, so no one person is being er- _bled dry_ ," he smiled, "do we have a deal?"

The hunter eyed him a moment before nodding, "yeah, deal."

Crowley watched him with an amused expression, making to sit a bit more upright; he scooted his position so he straddling the hunters hips, his face a few inches away, voice low once he began to speak, "Want to hear something interesting, love?"

Bobby watched him with interest, his eyes flickering down to the others lips, without his consent, for only a moment, his gaze lifting to find a smirk in the others eyes, "Ah," he breathed, "ah, yeah, sure-"

"Did you know," Crowley began, lifting his hands to brush along the hunter's sides until they settled at his chest, "that in ancient Rome, in order for deal to be sealed, as a legal bond per say, was for the recipients to seal it with a kiss?"

A small smile broke over the hunters face, so that's what this was about, "really, now?"

"Mh hm," Crowley hummed, his nose brushing over the hunter's, "that's also why kissing the bride, _or_ significant other, comes into play during weddings. It was seen as a form of contract being signed, and so, they kiss."

Bobby's hands slid down from their resting place on the other's back, down to his legs and falling to the crook of the others knees, "Is that a suggestion?"

"More of an offer," the Scotsman smiled, bringing his hands up to slip along the underside of Bobby's jaw, his fingers finding a comfortable resting place just behind the base of his neck, and slipping through his hair.

Bobby chuckled, "do you make this offer to all your clients?"

Crowley brushed his lips over the other man's, just a breath away, "No," he hummed, his voice soft and heavy, "just the one," before dropping his head those last few spaces until their lips were touching, and Bobby couldn't help but begin to find the feeling warmly familiar.

Familiar, but the hunter wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the way his pulse speeds up and makes his arms and hands feel shaky, or how his chest fills with a fluttering sort of heat and he has to remind himself to breathe. He didn't think he'd grow accustom to the other's strong jaw or his soft lips and smooth face brushing and locking with his, or even how his hands would cradle his head or neck as if he couldn't risk him slipping through his fingers.

The dance was familiar, the hunter thought absently, but it was the steps that were different.

Honestly, he wished he minded more, but he didn't.

Crowley's tongue brushed, his lips parting and pressing and meshing, with his hands like feathers and his grip a little soft and Bobby became painfully aware of how Crowley was over him, and how his breath hitched and hips swayed- at least until he pulled away. Bobby felt warm hands brush over his cheeks, and it took him a moment to realize that his eyes had fluttered shut until he forced them to open; greeted by the other's warm steady stare, open and bright. His eyes were close enough, that Bobby could even see the colour -- they were the greyest green, laced in gold and for some indistinguishable time, they were quiet.

At least until Crowley cleared his throat.

"So," he started, his voice a little rough as his tongue brushed over his lower lip absently, "breakfast?"

Bobby hummed, nodding as he pushed to his elbows and the two of them untangled themselves from the blankets. "Where do you wanna go?" the hunter asked, making to stand. Crowley looked after him, still seated on the couch, while the hunter adjusted his pajama's on his hips, picking at the elastic band.

"Where'd you take me to a few days ago?"

Bobby paused, "Uh, Conner's Diner," not a bad choice, "I think they make breakfast in the morning."

"Of course the do, they're a diner," Crowley pushed to his feet, "you mind stopping back at my apartment before we get there?"

"Sure," Bobby shrugged, "did you forget something?"

"Yes, I need something to wear."

"What you're wearing isn't good enough?"

"Really, Robert?" Crowley scrunched up his nose in distaste, " _you_ might be perfectly content looking like a heathen in public, but I have standards and an image to uphold."

"What? You walked outside like that last night."

"Yes, but it was _three in the morning_. What are the chances anyone I knew was going to see me?"

Bobby pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the man, "well, what are the chances now?"

"Higher than before, that's what."

"Well you're _not_ wearing a suit to _breakfast_." Bobby stated crossly, to which the other rolled his eyes.

"I didn't _say that_ , love. I simply stated that I needed something to wear," he pushed himself so he was sitting closer to the edge of the couch, "so run along and get dressed, then we'll head out?"

"Alright," Bobby hummed, "I'll be right back."

Crowley said nothing as the hunter disappeared up the stairs, and once the Scotsman was out of sight, he made quick work of heading to the washroom to sort of freshen up a bit. Combing through his unruly hair with his fingers; he brushed his teeth and splashed water over his face, making the quick decision to snag his cap once he was already heading back to his room.

Clothes were scattered about, yet Crowley's suit was still folded up by the end of the bed, although Bobby paid them little mind, as he set forward to scavenge through his dresser drawers. He grabbed some jeans and a shirt, hastily swapping outfits, and pulling them on. Pausing by the door of his bedroom, he looked back at his room; his clothes really _were_ everywhere.

There was a moment where he was drawn between just heading downstairs and leaving, or straightening up-- he almost said screw it and left, but he also remembered that if Crowley had stayed here last night, although briefly in his bed, whose to say he won't stay again? He doesn't clean up much after himself, but perhaps he could sacrifice a few minutes and just fix the place up.

With a sigh he stepped back, grabbing the few opened and scattered books along the side of his bed, and placing them back on the shelf on the far right of the room. Bobby grabbed the ties he had lying in a heap upon the shelf and slipped them into his upper drawer. The hunter didn't bother making his bed, figuring it wouldn't make much a difference, seeing as he'd only mess it up again, but he grabbed all of his fallen dirty clothes, piling them up into their own heap and gathered them in his arms; letting them drop into a basket off to the far right of the room to deal with later.

Bobby eyed the room down from the doorway one last time, giving the place a once over until he was satisfied with the results for the most part. Shutting off the lights as he left.

When he walked down the last of the steps, he saw Rumsfeld sitting with his head raised and resting on Crowley's lap, his tail wagging with the Scotsman's fingers brushing over the fur of his head and to his ears. However, Crowley's attention wasn't on him, but rather on the TV that Bobby hadn't heard turn on while he was upstairs. The hunter glanced between him and the set, before letting his eyes fall to whatever it was his attention was on.

It was the New's channel, and a woman was on the screen. Reporting something Bobby had missed the story on while he was away, yet there was a switch and someone was outside and talking to a taller man that looked somewhat familiar to him. His eyes were sunken in, and his cheeks looked hollow and his shoulders were stiff, but the most notable thing about him was his eyes, and how.. yellow they were.

Crowley was staring at the television intensely, but his eyes looked dull, and his brows were tense.

"What's going on?" Bobby had asked, but Crowley silenced him with a wave of his hand, patting the seat next to him for Bobby to sit, but the hunter didn't move. Instead his eyes had fallen onto the screen once again, with the volume so low that he couldn't quite make out what was being said from where he was standing, but Crowley didn't seem to mind the near lack of noise; mostly because he probably couldn't find the remote to turn it up, and figured he could do without.

His eyes dropped to the bowls by Crowley's feet, and made a soft sound. They'd forgotten about the ice cream while talking, it seemed; without a sound, he picked them up and quickly moved out of Crowley's vision, walking off towards the kitchen and dumping the remains down the sink.

There was a thump and a click and the living room grew silent once again, and once Bobby turned around, he saw Crowley standing there in the doorway. Bobby could see Rumsfeld trotting off from his spot, and slipping behind his desk; presumably for the spot under the desk where he always seemed to sleep.

Crowley's face looked unfocused and dim when he walked into the room, his expression was tense and borderline uncomfortable. Bobby gave him a concerned look, but the Scotsman shook his head.

"We're not going to worry about anything today," Crowley said with a small gesture of his hand, but his gaze stayed lowered, "we're going to have breakfast, and waste the day, and we're not going to let trivial matters get to us. Not today."

Bobby gave him a careful look, stepping forward, "Alright, not today," he replied, "but I've always got ears for tomorrow."

Crowley looked up at him when a gentle smile touched his lips, "thank you."

"Don't mention it," Bobby made a nonchalant gesture before making to slip on his shoes, with Crowley moments behind him. They left in a blur of motions, filled with mutters of the cold and how the sun was a bit too bright, but they slipped into their chilled seats and Crowley made a comment about perhaps getting a new radio for his car.

"S'rather quiet," he murmured, "doesn't that ever get tiresome?"

"No," because he honestly liked the sound of his tires against the gravel, and he liked the hum of the engine that wasn't cut out by excess noise to distract him. Sometimes, when his head hurts and the days aren't going the way they should, sometimes he feels like there should be something to fill the silence, yet most of the time, he didn't really mind. He didn't mind it if he could hear every word the man in his passenger seat was saying, and didn't mind if he could hear every sigh and little sound that he was slowly but surely growing accustomed to hearing; and Bobby never thought he'd prefer someones voice to just about anything else, "not really."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do you remember? Back when Crowley was just a business man and my chapters were poor in quality?" I'm excited to finish this story (which, still, won't before for some time-) so I can go back and add a crazy amount of editing for the first few chapters like what the hell, why did any of you keep reading.
> 
> I'm ridiculously weak when it comes to domesticity, and, as you can see, it's a bit of an annoyingly ongoing theme I've got going on. (That and the fact there isn't a lot we knew about Karen, so I really like messing around with who she was as a person) I hope it makes up for those of you who've read my new(ish) Reincarnation fanfiction; that, and I've always strongly believed that Crowley would be an insomniac stress eater if he were human (among other things) so that's exactly what I'm going to make him out to be. Also, healthy relationships are healthy, and good for the soul as well as insomniatic stress eaters. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. ^^


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's take a look around my sub-plot again, because that is also sorta important. Also, I'm sorry for taking so long for everything I'm trying to update; I've been going through this depressive bout of writing discouragement. I'm sure a lot of you are tired of waiting so long between each update, and I'm sorry. (feel's like I'm constantly coming up with excuses)- it's also a bit shorter than some of the past chapter's, (with little editing) so I'm sorry about that too.

The bad thing about February, was that the snowfall wasn't really snow anymore, but rather sludge that made the street's slimy and look filthy.

While, although, the sidewalks are still mostly wet, there were still these obvious spots where salt touched the concrete, causing this dry white circle around it to form, like a winter beacon. Dean would be he first to say that it looked as if someone had taken a blow dryer to a snowflake, just because salt didn't sound as neat and because that's just what it looked like. The mechanic tugged at the opening of his coat, the zipper broken, and the sleeves thin and because it was quite literally fucking freezing outside. Ignoring the fact he could very well freeze to death if he was out for an extended period of time, he grabbed the handle of the snow shovel and gave it one last push, shoving the last sludgy mound out of Cas's driveway.

Satisfied, and bitterly cold, Dean gave the driveway one last once over, clenching and unclenching his aching hands as his feet turned and he began the little trek back up the way, into the garage where he placed the shovel back into it's little corner. His hands and feet were cold, his nose nipped and eyes watering as he stepped into the back door, letting it slam shut behind him with a warm feeling of accomplishment in his gut. Wasting no time, Dean removed his wet and frost coated shoes, letting them drop beside the door so he could shuffle his way to the closest heating vent, tucking in his toes and dropping into a seated position in front of it.

If Cas were a more verbal person, he might have told Dean he looked absolutely ridiculous, but because he wasn't, he walked by with a half full mug of something steaming with a look at the mechanic instead of a word. Cas leaned to sit on the couch, settling in front of the tv whose volume had been down and didn't bother to reach for the remote until he had taken a good long drink of whatever it was in his hand.

Another thing about February, from what Dean had taken into account a few months prior, is that it's still in that interval of what Cas consider's to be sweater weather. He can remember asking him why he wore those stupid things all the time, and Cas had been patient in explaining that it's an old tradition that Lucifer had gotten him into. Which, so to speak, Dean honestly can't imagine Lucifer in a sweater, and he realized that it wasn't a tradition, but more of something he did because it reminded him of home and his brothers, so Dean never brought it up again.

However he did ask what the interval was, exactly, and Cas had said that sweater weather start's in late September and end's somewhere in May, although he has said something along the lines that any weather can be sweater weather if he's brave enough. 

Dean had bit back comments about saying that Cas was brave anyways- he _had_ taken in a complete stranger into his home and looked after him. What Cas did was both brave and incredibly stupid, but again, brave none the less, and Dean was overly thankful.

On the other hand, Dean himself wasn't brave enough to ever ask Cas to spare one of his stupid sweaters, even now, as he pushes his toes and finger's over the open heating vent, trying to fight out the cold settled there. Cas was still looking at him, one of his brows delicately arched before seeming to decide on something.

"If you want," he said, lifting his mug a bit, "I could make you some coffee if you'd like."

Dean shook his head, "Nah, we're about to leave," he shifted his feet a little more boldly, "I can pick something up on the way."

"At least let me grab you some socks," Cas set down his mug, the little thud it made was probably the most aggressive and final thing Cas could do to let Dean know there wasn't an argument. He stood a little stiffly, probably from lack of decent sleep these last few days from studying overnight, walking his way out of the room and towards the stairs without so much as a glance back. Dean didn't say anything as he watched him go, pushing his hands down against the carpet to stand, then stepping over to the couch with shivering limbs, sinking into the seats.

His back hurt, and Dean knew for a fact that the ache wasn't going to leave for a few day's if he's not careful, so he shifted and stretched out his arms overhead, feeling a slight crack in his back before letting himself settle against the cushions once again. His eyes flickered up to the tv idly, adjusting until a picture flickered, black and white onscreen. The picture was grainy, and yet the sight of it cause Dean to freeze, the ache forgotten at the sight of a face he swear's to God he never thought he'd see again.

"What the fuck," he breathed, sitting up on the couch, hanging on the edge of his seat as his eye's darted back down to the coffee table in front of him, in search of the remote hiding in sight. His hand snapped out and grabbed it, fumbling for the volume, until he was finally hearing the beginnings of a voice on screen. He kept going, until the volume was maybe a bit too loud, and yet allowing the remote to fall on seat beside him, discarded.

"-woman had gone missing from her home, although police reports say there was no struggle and her key's were not in the area," the New's reporter flickered from the screen, and the face of the aforementioned woman came back on; with her high cheekbones, long dark hair, eye's sharp and nose narrow and the smile was light but Dean still remember's when it wasn't, "Ruby Cortese, thirty five year's of age, was last seen late on Monday morning, the day before the incident in Purgatory-" Cas came downstairs, his steps soft and Dean hadn't noticed him until he saw him at the corner of his eye, glancing to his friend a moment before looking back at the tv screen, feeling the slight bump against his shoulder that Cas did to grab his attention long enough for him to grab the socks. Dean did so without saying a word, barely looking down as he pulled them on.

"-Lilith Lovett, the CEO of the major insurance corporation, and single mother of one, had been found dead early Tuesday morning, by a fellow co-worker who is currently unnamed. Reports had come in, pointing _blame_ on her second in Charge, a man named Fergus McLeod, or as his colleague's refer to him as _Crowley_ , but he had been out of town during her initial time of death," the woman lowered her head to her microphone, lips pressing as the news feed came in from her ear, clearly listening to something, but it only lasted for a mere moment, her eye's flicking back up to the camera.

"What's going on?" Dean heard Cas mumble beside him, but he shushed him, trying to focus in on what the woman was saying.

"It's unclear when Miss Cortese had gone missing. She is currently the police's first lead connected to the late Miss Lovett's death. If you hear or see anything, do not hesitate to call the police- more to come as this story progresses at ten. Charles, back to you-" there was a flip of faces to a man sitting behind a counter at the local New's station, but Dean didn't care to listen anymore, grabbing the remote to lessen the volume.

He slumped in his seat, pressing the palms of his hands against his face, pushing and pushing even though he wasn't sure whether he was trying to push out his frustration or keep something else in, when he heard Cas beside him.

"Dean what happened?" Cas asked again, moving in his seat to look at Dean more fully. The mechanic, with a harsh noise in the back of his throat, let his own hands drop to his lap, giving his friend an annoyed look.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "Ah, just-" he shifted, moving his legs a little while allowing his head, feeling heavy, to fall back against the couch, "I knew her, from ah.. a long time ago."

Cas was quiet, his eyes squinted, "a friend of yours?"

Dean would have been offended if he believed Cas knew better, but he doesn't, so he just breathes out instead, "Hell no," he grumbled, "the right _bitch_ nearly ruined my brother."

Cas grimaced, "Dean, you know I hate that word."

The mechanic made another sound akin to that of an antagonized huff, pushing up a little in his seat, "Sorry Cas," he replied instead of retorting, "Ruby, she, ah-" he halted, pressing his lips together. Running the calloused palms of his hands over his face, he moved them downward from his hairline, "she was uh- Sam's dealer, I don't think I..- I don't think I ever told you about that."

Castiel shook his head, pulling one of his legs onto the couch with them, wrapping his arm around it to keep it in place. Dean regarded him, not sure how to approach the subject or if he even should, but he figured that after everything Cas has done for him, he sort of deserved any kind of explanation he could give him; vague or otherwise. He didn't need to know _all_ the dirty little details, or all the things that kept Dean awake at night, hating himself for. Yet he deserved something, and Dean wasn't stubborn enough to deny that much.

"Sam had..- Sam had lost his girlfriend back in college," he began, coughing, "her name was Jessica, but everyone called her Jess." Dean went on to explain her death that could have been prevented, he went on to say that Sam had been lost without her. Cas listened silently to every word that fell from his mouth, and was polite when things began taking a turn for the worse. Dean told him about how Sam would disappear for hours, sometimes days and his brother wouldn't even realize he had been gone for so long-- like time didn't affect him, or that it just didn't seem real. Dean told Cas how he'd followed Sam one day, and how his brother had been so _out_ of it he hadn't even realized he was blatantly being followed, until he was already meeting up with a woman that Dean could tell that something was severely wrong with.

Dean recalled the kiss to Cas, telling him that sick feeling in his gut and how it twisted up at the time; recalled that, from a distance, she was something akin to that of a blade. All sharp edges and smoke, ashy and narrow, but her eyes gave her away of what her purpose was- and her purpose being, solely and thoroughly, was to ruin the whole set up that Sam had made for himself; to tear down his walls and reshape him, and that woman had been Ruby.

"I recognized her face," Dean said then, glancing back to the tv, still silent and the new's had shifted to something else entirely, "it's hard to forget something like that."

"You did the right thing," Cas commented, almost as if he was unsure if that was even the right thing to say. Dean appreciated the sentiment, so he supposed it worked for what it was worth.

"I'd hope so," the mechanic sighed, glancing down at the carpet before pausing once his eyes reached his feet. Dean might have laughed if he was in a better mood, but instead settled to raising his brows; they're woolen, burgundy, and just a bit too tight around the ankles while the heel is a bit worn down, but they're warm and painstakingly Castiel's favourite socks. "Ah, thank you."

Cas smiled instead of answering, pushing up from his seat, "ready to go?"

"Yeah," Dean pushed to a stand as well, moving to shut off the tv, eye's looking around to the front door for his extra pair of shoes, "you driving or me?"

"You," Cas responded, shoes already in hand and pulling them on, finger's moving deftly over the string's, tying them in a nice knot. "I'm not sure where they live."

"Alright, well, it's about time you do," Dean grabbed his sneakers, taking his seat on the edge of the coffee table, slipping them on with a bit of fumbling, his finger's still stiff from the cold. Cas moved away to the front door, snagging his trench coat off of the rack and slipping it on his shoulder's with minimum difficulty.

"You still want to get something before we head over?"

Dean shook his head, "I'm thinking after, that way Ben can have something too."

That's their overall mission, after all. Their Judge, Castiel's eldest brother, had insisted and demanded that Dean get his DNA tested to prove that he wasn't Ben's biological father- something to do with accuracy and his own standing, although he's sure that Michael, as he feel's rather entitled to call him, didn't have to be such an asshole about it. Dean was also quite sick of hearing Castiel apologize for his brother's behaviour, as if it was somehow his fault.

So they bundled themselves up to brace against the cold of the day, and Dean put a few extra dollars in his wallet to get Ben something to snack on while they're at it, and off they were to the car that was still parked in the garage.

Dean slipped into the driver's seat, while Cas slid into the passenger. Revving up the engine and turning on the heat to full blast, the cold hair brushing their faces until it began to warm up as they steadily moved out of the driveway.

The drive was long, much longer than he had anticipated it would be, but Lisa and Ben live on the far corner of the county, while Cas lives closer to central. The roads were slushed coated, and the air was crisp, while the clouds in the sky covered up the sun that couldn't peek through the fog of it all. Car's were covering the roads, so the drive perhaps seemed longer than it was supposed to, leaving the two of them in a comfortable silence until Cas deemed it time to turn on the radio.

It was white noise against a static background, but it was something.

Cas attempted to lighten the mood a bit by joking around with the vocals of the singer, and they laughed in short intervals as they finally pulled up into the hidden drive that lead to Dean's old neighbourhood. The drive is more clear, as most of the car's there are parked and sitting in long stretches of drive. Dean makes it up to the familiar way of his old home, remembering the little turns here and there that take him to the front steps; he hadn't seen this place in some time, and honestly, it feel's a little weird to be back. Cas is talking to him, asking him if he would prefer him to stay in the car, but honestly, Dean wants him up there with him, so he say's so and they're stepping back out into the coldness of the day and walking up snow coated steps that lead to the front door.

Cas stay's a few feet behind, letting Dean hesitate with the knock a moment, letting him breathe, before his hand turns to his fist, that's then banging two or three times against the door.

On the other side he heard barking, and he can't remember them ever having a dog, but remember's that this isn't his home now, and it's some other guy's; that jackass probably bought them a dog. The thought didn't make Dean as angry as he supposed it should have been, once the door was cracked open and he saw the sliver of a face that was too tall to be Ben's and too short to be Brady's, and Lisa sighed explosively as she pulled the door open further to give him a once over, her eyes then settling on Cas. She paused at the sigh of the man before turning to shout Ben's name.

"I still think this is beyond fucking stupid," she hissed at Dean, keeping her body in the doorway, preventing either one of them from entering, as if she had something to hide. Dean narrowed his eyes at her, shifting on his feet.

"Court orders, you dumb bit-"

"Dean," Cas hissed softly beside him, causing Dean to close his eyes and count out numbers in his head. Sighing sharply, he looked pointedly at Lisa.

"It's required," he said instead, "I don't have a choice and neither do you. Beside's, I thought you'd be ecstatic to get Ben out of my life."

Lisa said nothing, her jaw tight and eyes narrow, not speaking. It wasn't until Dean heard footsteps thudding down the steps, did Lisa turn her cold eyes away to the child running down the stairs. Ben's hand grabbed the edge of the door, pushing it open and greeted Dean with a bright smile.

"Dad!" he brushed by his mom and pulled Dean into a tight hug. The tension in his shoulders dissipated, letting his hands fall to pull the kid tighter against him.

"Hey buddy," he laughed, "you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Ben turned to look at his mom, stepping back to press a kiss against he cheek in goodbye, "bye mom."

"Bye, sweetheart," Lisa called back, but Ben was already rushing down the slippery steps, somehow still on his feet once he reached the car. Cas followed behind, letting him know that the doors were unlocked. Lisa turned her gaze from her son back to Dean, some of the edge missing, but the burn was still there. "If anything happens to him-"

"Lisa I've been with Ben for over eight years," he snapped, but his tone was anything but hard, just tired, "I'm the last person you want to worry about, but him-" Dean glanced pointedly behind her, even though nobody was standing there, she knew who he meant, "I wouldn't trust _him_ worth a dime."

Lisa seemed to be biting back her words, opting to just slam the door behind her instead of pointedly responding. Dean stared at the white door and bright glass windows, huffing softly to himself and watching as the soft white burst of air puff from his lips like small clouds, finally returning control to his legs to turn, stepping down the steep steps away from that godforsaken white picket fence home, and that godforsaken apple pie life that became just out of reach. Looking at the car, a smile twitched its way onto his face despite himself; Cas was already buckled up in the passenger seat, hands folded on his lap and Ben was tucked away in the back, greeting him again as he slipped into his seat.

"Hey, wanna get something to snack on before we get there?" Dean asked, clipping on his belt, then adjusting the rear view mirror somewhat to see the kid better. Ben was still smiling, and _God_ it was so good to see him again, that bright expression downright contagious.

"Yeah, where too?"

"I know there is a Tim Horton's near by," Cas offered, looking back at the kid, "doughnuts sound good?"

"Yeah, actually," he shifted in the seat, extending his arm, "I'm Ben, by the way."

"Castiel," Cas offered, reaching back for him, "It's good to meet you finally, I've been hearing lots about you."

Ben made a face, his nose scrunching a bit but he seemed relaxed. Comfortable, happy-- better now than when Dean had last seen him, and the mechanic hadn't felt this good since the kid had gotten third in a little league game. Now he was a teenager, freshman in high school, and still in sports but good at what he does. Dean doesn't know if he's missed any game's, and when he ask's some time later, he's assured that he hadn't; even though that doesn't mean he won't.

Lisa has a way of keeping him in the dark.

Dean pulled out from the driveway, asking various questions with Ben answering a mile a minute. Trying to fill Dean in on everything he's missed out on, and all the things he's been doing in school. Ben went on about this girl he met in American Lit., and how he felt he couldn't speak to his own mom about her because she hadn't been listening to him, and would rather spend all this time with _Brady_ \- which doesn't say much for how often he hears them fighting; it was worse than what Dean and her used to do, but Ben didn't say so aloud.

Ben told him about his project's, and this new game he got that he's been trying to beat for the past few weeks with little luck; he talked about the weather, and shows, and little irrelevant things here and there that he knew were unimportant, but he wanted to talk about it anyways, because Dean was here and he wanted to make sure that he knew that no matter what happened with the divorce, that Dean was just as much apart of Ben's family as his own mom was. Eventually the conversation died a little once he began speaking of Brady, just as they were pulling up to the Tim Horton's that Cas had directed Dean to.

"He's..-" Ben paused, his words on the tip of his tongue but not a single one of them doing him any justice, "needy."

Dean snorted at that, "I figured that much."

"No, it's like-" the kid made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, "he's constantly all over mom, and he doesn't leave me alone. I'll be working on _something_ ," he waved his hands a little, "and he'd be hovering over me. It's like he doesn't know how to be alone, and it's driving me crazy."

"Why don't you tell him that?" Cas put in, but Ben just shook his head.

"He doesn't listen to me, and mom yells at me if I talk back to him."

Dean pressed his lips into a tight line, trying to find a way to respond to that without coming off too strong or acting like he didn't care. He eventually settled to apologizing, assuring Ben that he wouldn't do that to him if he was around more, to which Ben said that he wished he could be, but his mom barely let's him leave the house outside of school.

"It's like she doesn't trust me anymore," Ben breathed, clearly frustrated, "I don't _do_ anything, I go to school, I do my homework, my grade's aren't even that bad, but like-" he made an aggravated sound in the back of his throat, "I'm _not_ a bad kid! I _don't_ know why she doesn't trust me."

"I don't think it's _you_ ," Dean said, pulling the car around to the ordering station, "I think she doesn't trust _me_ not to drive around and snatch you up."

"I wish you would."

"Kidnap you?"

"It wouldn't _technically_ be kidnapping," Ben insisted, "I'd jump in the car before you even slowed down."

Dean laughed at that, one of those proud laughs where his head is thrown back slightly; it reminds him of an old man, but he does it anyways. If he were standing he'd probably be liable to do the knee slaps, but because he's constrained in a car, he doesn't. Dean pulls over and catches his breath, leaving Cas as the one who has enough sense to ask what Ben wants to eat and informs Dean once he's finished cackling to tell the person on the other line; Dean order's some doughnuts, two coffee's, and one hot chocolate before pulling up and paying. The treat's seem fitting, gather that the weather is still awful and bitter and anything sweet might lighten it.

The drive was quick after that, and Dean's the one who's doing most of the talking at this point, telling Ben things he's been waiting to tell him since the day he was forced to leave. Cas is cutting in and adding details that Dean's leaving out, and the two of them grt into a slight argument about how many cups Dean had accidentally broken over how many sweater's Cas had found in the trash, by the time they made the drive onto the high way.

"Castiel," Ben started, but Cas assured him he can call him by the nickname Dean had dubbed for him if he want's, "Okay, Cas then," he tried slowly, "what do you do for a living?"

Cas looked at him a moment, before shrugging, "I'm studying to be a neuroscientist, and surgeon," he answer's, keeping his head tilted to let Ben know he had his full attention while speaking. Dean doesn't know why he did that, but never really questioned it. It was just a.. Cas thing.

"That's brain's, right?" Castiel nodded, "oh cool! Have you got to cut into someone yet?"

If Dean was a different person, he might have reprimanded Ben for it, but Dean was Dean, and Lisa was always the one who yelled at him. So, he said nothing as Cas shook his head at the kid, looking almost apologetic.

"Not yet," he replied, "but I've been doing extensive practices, and will be able to one day."

Ben seemed to pause, but didn't really consider the words as they came out of his mouth, "anyone specific you want to try it on?"

Dean snorted at that, "his brothers."

"Dean," Cas hissed flatly, but the comment caught Ben's attention.

"You have brothers?" saying it as if the thought honestly hadn't occurred to him, and, in which case, it most likely hadn't. It's not something that's naturally assumed, whether or not someone has sibling's, but it's a fact that popped up, and Ben is trying to learn. Dean was half expecting Cas to shoot him a dirty glare or something equally demeaning, but Cas never does and Dean realizes that he has to remember that Cas isn't Lisa, and that Cas wouldn't ever feel the need to demean him. Instead he give's Ben a thoughtful look and begins explains who his brother's are and what the do, at least from his own knowledge, which is clear that it's running a little bit on the short end.

"Michael is the oldest," he say's as if he's repeating a thousand year monologue, old and decaying against his mouth, but simple and modern because he's patient and understanding, even if he doesn't care much to explain. He will, because he's Castiel, and that's just apart of who he is. "He's a judge and we don't speak much," of course they don't, and although Dean know's this, he's still listening in, driving in the high sixties on the highway, mindful of the car's on his sides and tail end, "he's actually the judge appointed to Dean's and your mothers divorce."

Ben was quiet a moment, eye's squinting and Dean doesn't have to look at him to know he's doing it, "him? He look's sort of.. I don't know, _young_ to be a judge?"

"Michael is in his early forties, he looks younger than he is," Cas says instead, as the short version to a long one he quite clearly doesn't have the energy to explain, "he's smart, and has been able to excel from what I've seen. But, again, we don't talk much," which was Castiel's way of wanting to drop the subject before continuing, "then there's Raphael, who's-" he stops, looking a little uncomfortable, shifting a little in his seat, "he's the second oldest, and not a very good person," he doesn't elaborate, "then there's Lucifer," and that name causes Ben to perk up, "he's the mechanic Dean works for, although he often goes by Nick to prevent stare's."

"His name's Lucifer?"

"My father was highly religious," Cas gave, as if it was the best explanation for some of the rather unfortunate names in his sibling tree, "all of our names were based off of angels," and to prove it, he went on, "Gabriel came next," _another archangel_ Dean thought silently; he wondered which angel Cas was named after. He wondered what their role would have been in heaven, or if they're sitting up on a cloud plucking away at their harp and finding it odd that they share a name with a human, "and he works at that Insurance company, Purgatory Placements. I believe he.. manages there."

"I heard about that place," Ben took a drink from his cooling hot chocolate; when Dean had offered to buy him coffee, Ben admitted that he thought the stuff was bitter and relented. "Someone died, didn't they?"

Castiel nodded, "The owner," his eyes drifted from Dean then back to Ben, "I'm not sure.. _exactly_ what her name was, or who's in charge now, but yes. That's where Gabriel works, although it's- it's more of a _branch_ of the place, if I remember correctly. Manages it." Gabriel, from what he's been hearing, has been doing exceptionally well for what it was worth, if all the text message's he get's from him on the daily has any say on the topic. He wished he regretting giving his brother his number, but honestly, he enjoyed hearing from him again. It's been a long, long time.

"Lastly is Balthazar," Castiel sighed, "I don't know _where_ he is or _what_ he's doing, but I'm almost certain it's illegal."

"Ah, c'mon Cas," Dean smiled, "don't be like that. Give your brother a little faith."

"Dean, Balthazar is beyond anything faith could do for him," he slumped in his seat slightly, running his fingers through his wrecked hair he hadn't gotten the chance to brush before they left- mostly because he had forgotten, but it wasn't the first time, and Dean highly doubted it would be the last.

They made it to the Paternity Testing Center, which is branched off on the west side of the hospital; through a series of songs via radio, and Ben keeping up a conversation with Castiel. Parking up close, they rebundled up the clothes that had found a way off their bodies due to the heat in the car, making quick work of jumping out and rushing to the main door's. The air inside was still cold, but not as intense and sharp as the outdoor's. Cas stayed back with Ben, as Dean made his way up to the woman behind the desk, speaking quickly to her about their appointment, and she was clicking key's behind the computer screen, nodding at him.

Cas didn't see what was going on, and hadn't bothered listening in until he saw Dean return with pages to fill out. Taking their seats on the padded chair's, which proved to be a little odd seeing as they were still bundled and damn near bloated and bulky on all fronts, in the empty waiting corridor, while Dean played devils advocate with his near empty pen.

Dean sighed heavily, slumping into his seat with some struggle, the pen twirling between his thumb and index finger.

The room was quiet, the walls plain, and it was, as Dean liked to think, a constant reminder of morality; which seemed silly, but at the end of it all, there's always the white walls and the waiting room's. Always the waiting room's, and sometimes the room that's beyond the hall, is the room where a loved one lay's, and right now, someone somewhere is sitting in a waiting room too. A different sort of breed than the one he's in now, and their hearts are probably fast and their chest's are heavy and pained, while their eyes hurt and their limb's shake. Maybe they're with family, maybe they're alone, but it doesn't matter because they're still there, and they're waiting.

Dean finds himself wondering exactly what they're waiting for.

But he's here now, for a paternal DNA test, and he's not waiting to hear the news from the doctor whether or not his loved one's going to make it.

The idea makes him kinda sick, but he's writing and wondering and feeling bad for a stranger he'll never meet, and wonders when the new's will come and wonders if they're going to be alright, even if it's bad- and he wonders when it'll be him, sitting there and waiting, and he finds himself not wanting to think about it anymore.

Pen meet's paper again and again, and Dean thinks to late evening's with Cas across from him at the table, and the sound of paper against paper, sliding and shifting, and more pencil tips breaking because he's gotten a little too rough, or when Cas eventually seemed tired of him sharpening, and gave him a pen instead.

Cas was helpful that way.

Cas was helpful in a lot of way's, if Dean really sits and thinks about it. But, he doesn't, because he doesn't have the time and it seem's a little weird that he'd sit there and contemplate his friendship with a man he's only known a few months.

Yet, if he did, he'd think about how, if he were sitting in a hospital waiting room, and his _own_ chest felt heavy, and his eyes red and puffy and full of tear's, and how his lower lip can't stiffen because he's hurting, he know's that if he were to ask Cas to wait there with him, he would, because he's just kind of that person. Kind and patient, understanding, and a really good friend.

Dean's just thankful that this is just a test, and that nobodies hurt.

He finished filling it out, almost like it was some sort of job application rather than a medical one, standing a little stiffly and soon Cas and Ben were on their feet too as he turned the pages in. The room was still quiet, outside of the woman's voice, indicating that she'll be right back and disappears behind a wall and the three are left standing there, until Ben sighs.

"I don't want to do this," he said eventually, and his voice is flat and even nearing on upset, but it catches Dean's attention instantly.

"How come?" he asked instead of reminding him that they have no choice _but_ to. Ben looks withdrawn, but answers anyways, knowing there's still room for him too, at least until the woman returns.

"It was better," he started, letting his eyes drag along the surface of the counter. Flicking his gaze over the health pamphlets stacked up on display, looking at them as if they were the most interesting thing in the room, but never making to reach and pick one up, "better knowing that I didn't have proof that you weren't my real dad."

Dean's eyebrows raise, but doesn't comment, "I know I'm too old to play ' _make believe_ ' but I still like to pretend you're my actual dad, and neither one of you ever made any serious comment about it," either one, meaning both Lisa and Dean, "at least until _Brady_ showed up."

"Hey," Dean remarked, "who knows," he let his hand fall onto his shoulder, pulling him over to wrap his arm around him, tugging him into a half hug that Ben reciprocated. His hand taking a fistful of Dean's coat to hold onto, letting his head fall between his arm and torso, "let's just.. get this over with, and _even though_ I'm not your.. your _biological_ dad, I'm _still_ your dad, and I'll make damn sure to see you as much as possible once you finally move out of your mom's, okay?"

Ben snorted, "I'll run away."

"No you won't," Dean contorted his face a bit too dramatically for disbelief, "you're too good a kid."

Ben didn't agree nor did he disagree as he was interrupted before he could, his response dying on his mouth once the woman came back in, saying she needed to see Ben first, without the adults, so she could get started on the testing.

"You good on your own?"

"I'll be fine," Ben responded reassuringly, reluctantly letting go of Dean's coat before walking off with the woman, leaving with a slight wave over his shoulder. Ben disappeared behind the corner she had shown up behind, and soon it was just Dean and Cas, once again, standing alone in the over sized room. It felt a little different this time around, as if it were more vacant and empty than before. The room felt somewhat bigger with lesser in it, but maybe it was just Dean.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asked, his voice slow, and for a moment, Dean had actually forgotten that he was standing there. He nodded in return.

"I'm good."

"You look worried."

"It's my default expression."

Cas narrowed his eyes at him, "no it's not Dean," Cas looked damn near ready to say what his _actual_ default was, when Dean cut him off with a little wave.

"Don't worry about it Cas," and he meant that, because he felt like he was worrying enough for the both of them. Castiel regarded him, but didn't look ready to drop the subject, but he did anyways for Dean's sake; Dean knew that he wasn't going to drop it completely, and he honestly expected to hear more about it later, but not now, and he supposed that gave him some time to figure out a good response.

The mechanic leaned against the counter, letting his legs cross at the ankles. "I have a question about earlier," Dean dusts his hands, rubbing them against the front of his pants, "when you were talking to Ben about your brothers."

Cas, for all his worth on being polite and patient, noticeably deflates, "Can we not do this?"

"It's just a quick question, I swear,"

"Dean," he say's his name as if he's warning him, but Dean has never been good with warning's and ignores his tone.

"It's real quick, and it's been bothering me since you brought it up."

Castiel sigh's, and that's the second time he hears one that's explosive all in the same day. His hand reaches his eyes and Cas pinched the bridge of his nose in frustrated exasperation, but he's still agreeable, and eventually nodded to Dean to let him continue, even though it was clear he didn't want him to.

Dean waited a good solid second, an _entire_ moment before he's certain that Cas was listening and began talking, "do you remember," he started, inclining his head, "back at the Christmas party at Bobby's a few months ago?"

Castiel look's slightly alarmed and confused, and it's clear to Dean that he isn't following but nod's none the less, "yes, I remember."

"Alright, well do you remember anything from what you said to your brother.. ah," Dean paused, "Gabriel? Was it Gabriel?" when Cas nodded, Dean snapped his fingers, " _Gabriel_ , well when he was talking, you both seemed lost on what some of your brother's were doing, and I know it's none of my business, but you seemed rather sure of yourself back there."

Castiel shoved his hands into the big pocket's of his trench coat, "well Gabriel had just gotten my number," he hummed, "he tell's me things."

Dean should have figured that much, but it also brought up another question he had been biting his tongue on asking, wanting to wait until Ben was out of ear shot as to not embarrass or make Cas uncomfortable. "What about one of your older brother's, Raphie, or ah.. Raphiel?"

"Raphael," he corrected.

"That's what I said," Dean waved his hand, "anyways, him. You said he was a bad person, but you didn't explain what he did."

"I didn't think it appropriate to tell a child," Castiel retorts, shifting on his feet, "I still don't think it appropriate to talk about, so if you'd _please_ -"

"Cas, c'mon," Dean was above begging, but he wasn't above urging, "I told you about what happened with my brother, because I trust you. Trust is a two-way street, Castiel, and if we're being blunt, I'm giving you a lot more then I even give my little brother, so.." his hands lifted, making idle air circles, "humour me here."

Castiel gave a low, hesitant noise in the back of his throat. Drawing up his arm's to his chest, tongue in cheek, "promise me you won't- you won't, _treat_ me any different, once I tell you."

The mechanic looked at him expectantly, his brows furrowing together tightly, "of course, why would I?"

"It happens," but Cas just leaves it at that and looks around him, making sure there wasn't a single soul listening in to him as he began, "Raphael," he says slowly, drawing out the words like he usually does, and his tone is very familiar. Neutral and steady, distancing himself, and Dean couldn't help but wonder why. "Raphael," he tried again, "he's always been..- the, _black sheep_ of the family," Dean quirk's his brow, but says nothing. "Although he might refer to himself as the _Shepherd_ , or..- or even _The Prophet_. He think's very highly of himself, but don't let his demeanor fool you- he's very deluded in his beliefs."

"I told you.. I told you that my brother's and I were named after angel's, and that our-our father had been very religious himself," Castiel continued, "he was a vain man, but he had only successfully got under the skin of one of us, with his studies and his own beliefs, and that one had been my brother Raphael. He was very loyal to our father, almost as much as Michael had been, but somehow had taken much of what was said to him, closer to heart. He had a vision, you see," Cas stepped forward, almost as if to lean on the counter beside Dean, but never touched the surface, "like our father did. He wanted to purify people, and take that.. purification, per say, to a level that most couldn't. He liked purity, unity, loyalty, and many people were blind sided by him, these.. these _impressionable_ soul's were so taken by his words, and I watched him change into something..- something awful."

Dean stayed silent, because even though he was trying to follow, he found it far more difficult than he had originally thought. He assumed that this..- Raphael? Raphael character was just some.. criminal. Like he stole, or murdered, but this? It didn't feel as simple as cut throat murder.

"I should say, that maybe it was a bit expected. Raphael had a different mother than the rest of us, but he's still our brother, and our father still took the responsibility to raise him. Much like Balthazar and myself had a different mother; Michael, Lucifer and Gabriel shared a mother, while Balthazar and I shared another, but Raphael was alone on this-- it's believed he had a sister, but what came of her, none of us know. I like to think that his mother decided to keep her, and let our father look after him. A fair trade in the eyes of a parent, but seemed unfair to him at the time."

"I think it was the loneliness," Castiel murmured, his tone growing soft, "that made him so impressionable to our father. Even though him and Michael were close, they still fought, he still felt outcasted, and so.. I suppose, in retrospect, he tried to _prove_ himself to our father. I don't know _exactly_ what he was trying to prove, and honestly, maybe he didn't know either, but he was trying and after everything-- the falling out of my siblings, our father being a dead beat, he eventually cut all ties."

Dean licked his lips, once Cas hadn't said something for some time, "well?" Dean cocked his head, "what'd he do after? Kill people?"

Cas looked as if he could laugh, but again, he's Cas' and so he doesn't.

"Converted them, actually," he said instead of something else, the intent evident, "I'm actually rather surprised you don't recognize his name, he's rather notorious in Sioux Falls, and that's an understatement."

Dean just looked at him, wracking his brain but no answer's were coming to him, least until Cas sighed once again. "I'm sure the local cult there might ring a few bells?"

It didn't, not really, at least not at first, then it hit him.

"Raphael Novak," and Dean damn near shout's it, because _Jesus_ why hadn't he put the pieces together before, "he's the-- the cult leader. He's the douche bag on the second radio station there, the one Bobby always skipped past and wouldn't let me and Sam listen to. Fuck, how _old_ is that guy?"

"Early forties, like Michael," Castiel say's evenly, "you would have just been a bit younger than Ben, around the time he got the cult started."

"Little Gospel spread quick," Dean murmured, "like _really_ quick. I can still remember the new's reports, and Sammy was still real little. Bobby always shut those things off if he saw us listenin' or watching anything on it. He didn't like them at all, although it took me a long time to realize why," he was put at a pause, and then, "really? Your fucking _brother_?"

"Dean, please," Castiel looked older when he sounded like that, exasperated and tired; Dean was wearing his patience thin, and he supposed he should feel guiltier than he does. "trust me when I say I don't approve of his actions."

"I never said you did, but man," Dean rubbed his hand over the side of his jaw, "he ain't right."

Castiel didn't respond to that with words, he just looked tired and Dean figured he should stop nit-picking at his family. There was still a lot of things he wanted to ask, but maybe if he kept pushing he might cause Cas to snap at him, and that was the last thing he wanted from him. So, he leaned there and stayed quiet, wondering what's taking that nurse so long when he hears Cas clear his throat beside him, snapping him back into attention.

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

"I have a question."

Dean cocked his head to face Cas, whose eyes were staring at the ground, hands still in his pockets. Dean waited, but for some time, Cas never asked, and instead just stood there, like he had forgotten how to speak. After a while, Dean cleared his throat, thinking the other had forgotten he'd said anything at that point, when he saw the shift and Cas looked him in the eye; it doesn't matter how many time's they do this, or how often Dean looks at him directly, he's always surprised at how utterly blue they are. It took a moment for Dean to realize that he had said something, and asked for a repeat from his pardon.

"I asked," Cas started, "why don't you call Bobby your father?" Dean blinked at him, "I mean..- he raised you since you were a young child, and you don't remember your real father, it seems a little strange that you call him by his name."

"Bobby is my dad," Dean responded as if it were a confirmation, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth, "you're right, he did raise me, and he raised Sammy, but he always- he always told us not to. Said it never sat right with him, and me and Sam always respected that- called him Bobby, but we still- we still _treated_ him like our dad, you know? Still celebrated father's day with him. He was still the guy who came down to the parent-teacher conferences at school. He's our dad by his action's, he just doesn't like the title, and I guess I can understand that. It was a bad year for him, and we were sprung on him, but he did his best given the situation, and I'm just.. glad he was around."

Bobby could have been anything to him and his brother; he could have been abusive, he could have been neglectful- instead he just struggled, and really, him and Sam had honestly hit the jackpot when it came to them being left with Bobby. He did his best, and that's really all Dean could have ever asked from anyone.

Castiel quirked his lips into a frown, "what happened that year?"

Dean shook his head, "not really my place to say," and left it at that.

They settled into a silence once Ben had finally come out, greeting the adults with a short smile but didn't have the chance to say much until the nurse had called for Dean. He followed back with a short glance behind himself, walking behind the wall and stepped into a long hall that stretched out for some time. He had been remotely worried he'd have to cross the whole way, but the nurse led him a few door's down before following in after her.

"Take a seat, Mr. Winchester," she instructed, her voice crisp and distant. Dean did as she asked without question, his eyes darting to find a seat, and ended up just sitting on a stretch of a medical bed; one he supposed wasn't for actual sleeping, but for check up's. Where the cushions were hard and stiff, and doctor's tended to cover with these thin sterile paper towels that were so easy to rip. The room was small, with a little counter in front of the bed, a rolling chair, and a poster with a cat hanging off a branch that read " _Hang in there!_ " which would have been encouraging if Dean had been someone else.

The nurse placed the board down, explaining what she was going to do and how she was going to do it; the process, and the end result and how it was going to be laid bare. Dean agree'd without really listening, noting the needles and feeling a little queasy at the sight, but kept his nervousness to himself.

"-then the cotton swab against the inside of your cheek," she finished, "and that will be all, and we'll run the test's up shortly. You'll get the result with in a few day's."

Dean nodded, blinking a few times. "Alright, just ah.. let's do this."

She nodded instead of looking at him, grabbing a small band and requesting he pull up his sleeve. Her finger's moved deftly, and maybe if he hadn't been so focused on the needle, he might have tried to chat her up a bit-- she was a pretty thing, but his eyes were focused and unfocused, and his nerves were racing a little as she dabbed the bit of alcohol against the inner crook of his elbow.

Dean had only ever heard horror stories about doctors and nurse's trying to find the vein, but she was quick and hit it first go. Dean bit back a hiss, keeping his eyes away as she extracted the amount she needed before removing the needle, setting it carefully to the side and dabbing the spot with alcohol once again. There was a slap and a small band aid to cover the spot was patted on; he was tempted to ask what happened to all of their hello kitty band aid's but bit his lip and kept quiet.

She moved around, grabbing the vile of his blood and placed it in a small container, somewhat larger than itself, but just barely. Her back turned from him, which made it harder for Dean to see what she was doing but refused to ask; it felt strange trying to talk to someone who was preoccupied, he might even say it was rude but he didn't. The band was still wrapped around his arm, almost as if she had forgotten it, but she turned back around, her pony tail swaying as she did so, snipping it off and tossing it into the metal bin just behind her shoe.

"I'm going to need you to open your mouth," she said sweetly, now that they were face to face. She was smiling politely, her lips arched and there was a snippet of a dimple on her cheek. She smiled like they were old friends, and it was disarmingly charming that Dean smiled back right before he did as he was told, letting his mouth fall open a bit wide. Her hands were gloved, holding a larger swab between her finger's. Her hand cold but gentle against his jaw, moving the swab carefully against the inside of his cheek, and before he registered what she was doing, it was done and over and she was walking back to her case.

"That's all," she nodded toward's the door, her hands seeming to move like the speed of light as she shut the case and pulled it off of the table, "your results should come within the next few day's, Mr. Winchester."

"Thank you," he replied, feeling a little awkward as he slipped off the bed, feet touching the ground. He was down and out as soon as the door opened, giving her one last polite smile in passing as he rushed his steps to the front, where he found Cas and Ben still hovering at the counter, waiting for him. But even so, there were these little smiles on their faces, as Ben seemed to be in the middle of some story that Dean had missed the punchline to.

Their head's snapped up to him in approaching. Neither asked how it went, because it could be assumed it went fine, and it was good to just avoid the pleasantries altogether, as they began their little trek back to the car, bundled up and listening to Ben talk. The inside of the car was a bit chilled, but Dean turned the heater back on, sure to break it eventually, but it was too cold outside for him to care.

The drive back was one done in mostly white noise. Ben was tired, which was evident for how long they've been out, and the steady vibrations of the car were lulling him to sleep. Cas was somewhere close behind him, with his head leaning against the cool glass of his window, his eye's half lidded and hands folded and collapsed on his lap. Dean could hear his breath as shallow and slow, even over the blare of the heater; he could hear them both, dozing and near dreaming, but not quite.

The sky was growing darker, so Dean snapped on his head lights, illuminating the near crowed and patchy road ahead of him. The hour was growing late, and people were heading home for the night, much like they were, and Dean wondered what home was like for them.

He imagined nice neighbourhoods, like those he used to live in with Lisa and Ben and their big back yard, with neighbours only feet away on either side, and a driveway that went on for miles. Maybe they're going home to a broken family, maybe they're going home alone. Dean figured, _hey, if they got pets, they're not alone_ , but then thought, well, what if they didn't? Seemed like a lonely life. Wake up to nothing, work for themselves, and come back to nothing. He knew there was plenty of good for independence, and at least Dean could see that much-- just because _he_ was more codependent than anything, which wasn't necessarily a _bad_ thing, but it proved he was rather useless on his own. So it might be a bit of a lonely life, but perhaps they like it that way; pet's and a family aren't cut out for everyone, and he get's that.

His finger's stretched over the wheel, shaking his head. Focus on the road.

Dean stared ahead of him, foot on the accelerator, other hovering over the brakes, the drum of the engine humming in his ears and reverberating in his lungs. The hour was turning to the next and for some reason Dean thought back to his childhood home, to late nights watching movies and being buried under blanket's that him and Sam had stolen from the clean clothes pile. Where they'd have no popcorn, and instead would make due with what they had in the cabinet's, that even Sam had a hard time reaching back then, while Bobby would be working in his late and spare hours on the Impala forever parked in his garage.

He always worked on the Impala. It was like a bad habit, sort of like chewing on nails or picking holes into clothing.

Bobby had only ever let him in it a few times, behind the wheel, that is- and allowed him to drive it only once, while he was practicing for his temps in driving. Had said that if he was set on learning to drive, then he was going to learn in the same car his dad had when he was first learning himself. The old hunter could be pretty damn sentimental if he wanted to be, but Dean wasn't complaining-- he hadn't felt right sitting in a car until that moment, and every moment after when he wasn't sitting behind her wheel-- other Impala's didn't even _compare_ to her, and the new version's that had come out didn't even have an _excuse_ to use her name. Each and every one of them were these modern monstrosities, and it was a damn shame that they don't make them like they used to.

All sharp edge's, and in bulk; the coating was clear and Baby, which had been her name for as long as Dean can remember, had been in repair, _also_ , for as long as he could remember.

Bobby never stopped fixing her up, cleaning her, changing her oil, even when he didn't need to. They never drove that car, and Dean just think's that Bobby fret's over it too much. Afraid something's going to happen to her, or that John will somehow emerge from the grave to kick his ass if he so much as let's _dust_ settle on her.

He'd promised him that car someday, once he was ready to hand her over, but Dean never brought it up and never pestered him about it; figured that when he was ready to hand him the key's, it had to be over something important-- sort of like passing down a precious family heirloom. Dean had thought maybe it would be his wedding day, maybe one of his many birthday's to come or when he was moving out, but he never did. It never really came up, and Dean wasn't really sure how to go about asking something like that, even when Bobby assure's him that the car is his. He supposed there was a lot of sentimental value there, and he get's that.

It was his dad's car, it was the car where Sammy and him had first arrived at Bobby's once his parents had died in the fire, and it was the car both him and Sammy had learned to drive in. There were other things, he's sure of it; like how Bobby always went to work on her when he was nervous or worried about something. How many time's him and Sam had hid in her when they were playing, with the engraving's of their names in the back, or the toy soldier stuck in the door. They were sure Bobby would be mad at them, but the hunter never said a word, and year's later, Dean could tell he never attempted to fix it, leaving the little memories as they were.

They rarely drove in the Impala, but they were around her a lot. Him and Sammy had spent a lot of time with her and in her growing up, sitting in the seat's when things got bad and money was low. Talking to her, as if she were alive, drawing strength from her cold exterior, palms flat out against her hood and he figured a lot of that came from feeling as if this was that last thing they had from their parents. Speaking as if they could hear them, or the car taking a form of her own.

Some kid's visited gravestones to feel closer to their lost loved ones. They had a car.

Dean can even remember all the times that Bobby would be doing his monthly check up on her, head in the hood while him and Sam would be sitting in the seat's, listening to the cassette player of their dad's old music, sitting in a box under the dash of the passenger seat. Bobby never cleaned it out, so sometimes when the old hunter was elsewhere, he can remember pulling open the truck and seeing the boxes of junk back there that him and his little brother would go through. Some things that had been saved from the fire, like their dad's old leather jacket, and the box of old picture's that they never really had the heart to go through.

There was a gun in there, too, that Bobby had told them was a colt, but it was broken and Bobby would have to find someone to fix it. He never did, but the thought was still there. Dean can still remember wondering what it was for, but Bobby had been as honest as he could and admitted he didn't know; it looked used and worn, but as far as he knew, his parents didn't hunt, not like Bobby did.

Dean blinked a few times, letting his eyes refocus themselves on the road. The sky was much darker now, the day's naturally shorter during the winter months, and the night's long, but the star's were missing from the sky and were replaced by heavy thick clouds, acting like a reverse blanket for the atmosphere, causing it to be cold instead of warm.

He didn't know how long he had been driving before he made it back to Lisa's, leaning back to nudge Ben awake, who did so very slowly.

The walk up to the front door had been as much as a blur as the drive over, and he gave Ben one last hug, lingering a moment before letting go, a bit reluctantly on both part's before letting him go inside. Dean hovered in the doorway for longer than he wanted to, sighing shortly as his feet pulled him back to the car, where Cas was mostly asleep by his side, beginning the long drive back home.

His home.

The day's grew longer after that, feeling like a slow blur as he waited and waited for the results. He was tired and restless, and Cas had been gracious on trying to keep him distracted at the end of the day's, with pie's and often times movies that neither one of them ever paid much attention to. Dean worked double, spending more hours than necessary on each car, and taking on extra loads, to maybe come home late to find the result's mailed in and waiting for him.

He just wanted to get this divorce over with, and once he get's those result's, he can just turn them in without even having to look at them.

A week came and went, and they had yet to have shown.

Dean would be lying if he said he wasn't getting anxious about it. They _had_ said it would take a few days, but they said _nothing_ about it being a week. Cas had suggested that the _testing_ itself would take a few day's, and maybe it would be a few more for postage to send him new's of the results; he was reassuring and light when he explained that Virginia had a poor excuse of a mail service, and Cas always had a way of being disarmingly reassuring if he wanted to be.

"It'll get here," he said one afternoon, spread out over the couch with an anatomy book laying on his belly, "checking the mailbox every hour isn't going to make it appear any quicker, Dean."

Dean knew he was right. He still did it anyways.

It was a Tuesday by the time it showed.

It was a reasonably late hour when Dean had gotten home. He felt gross, sweaty and covered in oil, quite ready to jump in the shower and take a nap on the couch, after pigging out on frozen pizza for the night. Entering the house, however, was a flurry of motion's until he noticed Cas had jumped up from his seat, waving something in his hands almost excited, when Dean realized it was an envelope. He froze.

"Is that is?" he asked, venturing a little closer, dropping his hands to his feet to tug off his shoes without untying them. Castiel nodded.

"It's from Therapeía," he placed the envelope on the table, for Dean to grab when he was ready, "they're the pharmaceutical company the funds the hospitals, so I'd imagine this would be it."

Dean eyed it from his spot, but instead of grabbing it immediately, he moved to the sink, washing up his hands and down to his forearms as best as he can, getting the sweat and dirt off. He was slow, deliberate, not really thinking as he cleaned up.

Cas seemed to realize that maybe he should preoccupy himself for a moment, just to slip out of the room to give him some space. He politely excusing himself without much else to say, yet Dean didn't really comment, nodding to him instead as he left.

His hands hovered under the hot water running over and falling through his fingers, letting them linger under the steady stream. It took some time for him to shut off the faucet and dry off, eventually, with much mental preparation, he turned to look at the envelope resting there, mostly untouched and completely unopened, and he couldn't have been more thankful for Cas not being a natural snooper. Dean knew better than to open it, knew better than to delude himself as if he had a chance.

He know's that the results are negative.

It didn't matter because no matter what, Ben was still his kid, and when Ben's old enough, they'll catch back up. It's just a few more year's, and he'll be able to see him again. A few years and that would give him enough time to find a home for himself, and a place to stay, and it'll do them both good for him to get back on his feet.

His sigh was weary as he pushed himself from the counter, pulling out the wooden chair and settling into the seat with a heavy breath. Dean picked up the envelope, dragging his finger's over the sharp crisp edges, his eyes looking over the lettering and the address; _Therapeía_ in clear blue lettering, with their logo underneath. It looked like an arrow with a squiggle going around the side-- Dean might be a little rusty on his symbols, but he recognized Alchemy when he saw it. He was sure it meant something, like _pure_ or _clean_. Although he couldn't remember the exact definition.

Regardless, his finger's brushed over the seal, reaching into his pocket to grab his pocket knife, slipping it out and pulling it open.

He shouldn't open it. He really shouldn't.

He does anyway with a flick of his wrist and a measured out drag of his blade.

Dean tells himself that he should stop here, that he know's what they say and that he shouldn't get his hopes up over chances and probabilities.

He also tell's himself that he'll regret it if he doesn't.

The pages are sitting spread out on the table by the time Cas walked back in some time later, but Dean doesn't move from his spot. Castiel barely notices Dean's silence as he walks to the fridge to prepare for dinner, and it's only when he has the food set out does he realize that the mechanic had barely moved from his spot. He takes a glance before retaking another and letting his eyes pause.

He's tense, face pale, and the pages are sitting bare as his eyes flicker over the same few words over and over. Tracing what looked like the spaces between the words, rather than the actual ink itself.

"Dean?"

"Where's the phone-?" Dean's up in moment's, his limb's are tense and he look's unsteady on his feet. He looks angry, lost, but overall he looks determined, and for a moment Cas forgot his words. Dean asked again, with more ferocity, snapping Castiel back to the present who blinked a few times, pointing towards the living room and Dean was gone in an instant. Castiel regarded him with a confused astonishment as he hastily reached for the phone, dialing quickly.

Castiel looked from him to the pages, watching the mechanic from the kitchen until he'd side stepped far enough to get a look at caused such a violent reaction. His eyes scanned the words, but everything at first seemed like a generic intro until his eyes settled on the last few sentences.

His eye's picking out the word _positive_ towards the end.

  
  


Dean said little over the phone with Bobby, other than that he was coming down in the next few day's, and he was taking a friend with him. He needed to talk to him, but there was a bad storm coming in, and there was mostly just static between the lines.

His heart was racing and he felt like he could be sick any moment. He didn't want to talk, and he felt so goddamn _angry_ , because Lisa's attitude about him getting the DNA test all but made sense now and _God_ what he wouldn't have done.

His thoughts were foggy, and his nerves were buzzing, and Cas was quiet as he shouted and screamed because the word that was supposed to start with an _N_ had actually started with a _P_ and it didn't seem possible at the time. He didn't even realize that his face was wet until he had quieted down and Cas had walked over to him, using that stupid sleeve of his stupid sweater and rubbed at his cheeks, his hands gentle and slow as they made him sit and he was talking to him, pulling him out of his head and bringing him back to the present. Back to him.

Just like he did when they were filling out the divorce paper's, back when he first got here.

Dean apologized, but his voice was hoarse and raw from screaming, and Cas seemed more annoyed by his apologies than he did from his shouting, and just told him to take deep breaths. He counted them out with him; in four, out eight, over and over until he was slumped against the couch, and Dean admitted that he made plans without telling him.

Cas was fine, and said that he needed a few day's away from his studying anyways, and told him that he'd just get packed in the morning.

Yet just for right now, they sat in their own silence, and Cas let Dean feel numb, but he at least let him feel numb with him sitting at his side; and if they woke up the next morning, still on the couch, and with Dean's head on Castiel's lap, and Cas's hand still in his hair from calming him to sleep, they never said a word about it after, and Dean never brought up the courage to thank him. Even when he knew that Castiel didn't need to hear it to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Alchemy symbol I was talking about actually means "Purity/Purification", and it's relevant. Thank you all for reading and I hope you all enjoyed. ^^
> 
> Also, quite literally most people called it with Dean being Ben's real dad; I was being real obvious with it, but I'm going to be a bit more careful here on out with foreshadowing. (There's still a bit to go with the Dean/Cas stories line, but I'm really trying not to focus too entirely on them, mostly because, as you can tell, I'm not really all that sure how to write them or characterize them as confidentially as I characterize Bobby/Crowley, so sorry about that.)


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't done a chapter like this since the beginning- also subplot, do _not_ skip, (it's also pretty short, so there's that) I made a little announcement before, but for those of you who missed it, these subplots advance the _actual_ plot, and if they don't then I'll let you know. I just really don't want people skipping important information that will affect the main ship (and plot developments) later on- I'm still introducing character's, and it's come to my attention that people are blatantly ignoring the destiel/sabriel chapters.
> 
> I _will_ for the sake of being nice, _warn_ you if a subplot chapter isn't relevant to the actual plot, (but honestly? I can only see one of them in the far future being that way, and I'll let you know at the beginning so you can decide whether or not you want to read it.) - I don't write these for my health, they're important, and I wouldn't put them in if they weren't. (I don't even put a lot of heavy stuff in to begin with- not nearly as much as with Crowley and Bobby, and if I do, I will warn you.) - Otherwise, quicker update, thank you for your time and please enjoy. ^^

The bed was new and underutilized on the best of days, resting plush and large beneath Gabriel's pajama clad back.

It had been Sam's idea to get a new one. All things considered, Gabriel had a habit of never taking very good care of his previous mattress, and he had never been much of an enthusiast when it came to replacing his long used household items. The last one was small, and simple, the one he's had for many good years of his youth, and it's seen enough damage to last him several lifetimes; there were faded spots, and thinning corners, and the springs dug into his back at certain areas, causing for severe discomfort and little sleeping on his end.

Once Sam had finally, actually, moved in with him (practically, anyhow) his first 'order of decree' had been to buy a new bed set. Something to fit them both comfortably, and preferably won't leave them sore in the morning. Gabriel had been nearly ecstatic when Sam had originally brought it up, because firstly, that meant he won't have to sleep on that pin cushion ever again, and secondly, that meant that Sam was serious about staying.

So they went, looked around for a while, Gabriel caught jumping on a few until he was politely requested to stop by one of the teenagers on shift. They eventually settled on this incredibly plush queen size that fit the both of them rather nicely. Gabriel ended up with choosing the pillows, as Sam _refused_ to let him also pick out the covers they were going to be using. Insisting on the Power Rangers sheets had been fruitless, but worked out a good laugh from Sam regardless, so he couldn't complain about the snow white blankets he eventually did pull out for them to share.

That night, without a doubt, had been the most comfortable he's been while sleeping. The sheet's were clean and warm, the mattress soft, and Sam was wrapped around him like a mother bear with his head tucked against his hair, and Gabriel hadn't known bliss until that moment.

However, it was abruptly shattered upon waking at finding himself alone in their recently bought bed. Gabriel made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat, his arm pushed out to pat the spot behind him where there was still a lingering warmth, but it was all but nearly gone by now. He groaned, pushing himself to lay on his back before attempting to force his eyes open, which happened quite reluctantly and very slowly, huffing out his irritation at waking up without Sam at his hip. It took a long while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, squinting around the room to see if Sam was standing anywhere, but found that he was completely alone. With a grunt, he pushed himself up into a seated position and looked towards the door, and to his luck, Sam's jacket was still hanging on the knob. The door itself was somewhat ajar, which prompted his own speculation as to what Sam might be doing at this.. - Gabriel looked towards the digital clock on his night stand- at this late hour.

Biting down on his lower lip, Gabriel scrunched up his face and listened, but mostly he heard silence. It wasn't until he noted a soft murmur, was he sure that Sam was just downstairs. Gabriel kicked at his oversized comforter, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and unsteadily pushed to his feet. His vision went white for a moment as the blood rushed to his head, but he was able to find his barrings rather quick and trudged his way quietly out of the room and into the upstairs hallway.

After Sam had moved in, his whole home had changed. For the better, of course, but it had certainly changed. The walls had these decorative paintings on them that Gabriel had never thought twice about, but Sam had insisted on buying to give his rather bare home a bit of life; even insisting they go to some flee markets and pick out some stuff just for the fun of it. Gabriel had never been to a flee market before, although Sam had been to plenty growing up. So he did, because he knew the big moose of a man had wanted to, and he had a really hard time saying no to that overgrown puppy face.

Not to mention how clean everything had gotten as well.

Gabriel was far from neat, by any standards, and Sam often spent his time picking his things up and putting them away; honestly, Gabriel felt guilty after he had come home to find everything miraculously cleaned and placed away one afternoon, when Sam had spent the day off for himself. After that, the shorter of the two became much more careful to keep things somewhat in order as to not have Sam fret over it. He even did the dishes when Gabriel couldn't. He opened up the blinds and let the sun in during the early hours of the morning, and Gabriel's caught the sweet hum from under his breath whenever he'd decide to make dinner instead of them ordering take out.

It was almost as if his whole life had a remake, with the sequel better than the original.

Gabriel slid his hand down the stairway railing, walking down towards the kitchen where he's certain he hear's Sam talking.

He looked around the living room a moment, taking it in. It looked much the same as it had before Sam had moved in, just neater, more organized, with a house plant or two and Gabriel couldn't help but smile.

Sam Winchester would have made an exceptional Hobbit, in everything but size.

He was dating a Bilbo Baggins sort, and he's not entirely sure what to make of that.

It wasn't a bad thing, not by any stretch of the imagination; just surprising. He ended up with the comfort sort, rather than the damaged gruff kind he had somewhat expected, especially with his carefree and offhanded lifestyle. He couldn't have gotten any luckier.

Speaking of which, as his feet settled to the bottom of the steps and turned towards the talking, his aforementioned luck was standing near the doorway of the kitchen, the house phone against his ear with the cords twirling between his thumb and index finger. Sam's hair was mostly brushed back and not nearly as messy as it should have been at this late hour, not to mention he was wearing his jeans and one of his other jacket's was hanging off of one of his shoulders, clearly distracted as he had been unable to pull it on completely. His voice was low, soft and murmuring, only seeming to pick up a bit in volume once he noticed the shorter of the two standing near the base of the staircase.

If Gabriel had ever been worried about Sam ever leaving him, he would have been a fool. Whoever was on the phone was clearly not anyone to worry about, as Sam's lips perked up into a friendly smile at the sight of him. Gabriel could do nothing more than return the gesture with full force, stepping a bit more comfortably forward to meet the other halfway into the kitchen; Sam pulled the phone away briefly to meet Gabe's lips in a chaste kiss before going back to his conversation.

Gabriel made a slight show of ease-dropping on his way to the fridge, pulling out some butter with a slight huff as he moved around the counter in search for the bread. He wasn't sure exactly why Sam was all dressed up at five in the morning, when he doesn't have to be at work until nine, but figured if he was on his way out, Gabriel might as well make sure he had some toast to go. Sam paid him little mind after the greeting, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter with something akin to that of exhaustion.

"-look, you know that I would love to head down and see you guys, but I haven't been in this job long enough to be taking any time off." Sam paused with a frown, "Dean, I already told you, I can't just say that it's important, they won't care- yes, I know that. But you already told me you weren't dying, and last I spoke to Bobby, he seemed in good health too. Which, by the way, tell his friend for me that I said thank you, because I _know_ it hadn't been Bobby looking after himself. - Dean, _why_ can't you just tell me this over the phone if it's _so_ important?"

Gabriel could hear frustrated grumbling over the other line, and could see the roll in Sam's eyes at the response.

"You know I'd be over there if I could, but I've got a _job_ , and you do to. Why is this an- yeah? Wait, what about him?" Gabriel's ears perked at the sudden change in the others voice. The fluctuation clear as it had swooped from irritation to clear confusion, the octave in his voice lowering, "Dean, what's wrong?"

Gabriel looked over his face, catching his lovers eye but Sam couldn't keep them steady. They shifted from the counter top to the floor and to the cord between his fingers, his eyes dancing about in his version of pacing, focusing in on his brothers voice. "What do you mean she lied? Dean slow down, you're not making any sense- Dean?" Gabriel heard a shout over the phone, but Sam didn't flinch away from it, instead his brows furrowed, lips parting in thought. Something flashed over his face, then came back and settled there, giving Gabriel a clear sight of a fine degree of surprise he's never quite seen before.

"Are you serious?" The sides of Sam's lips parted into an incredulous smile, "no- Dean, that's _amazing_ , congratulations!"

Gabriel mouthed the words 'what happened?' but Sam brushed it off, with a look that promised that he would tell him later.

"I- What? No, Dean, it doesn't matter. No, _listen_ do you know what this means for you? _She can't take him_ , don't you get that? -Yeah, Dean. I get it, you're mad, but this is phenomenal! These are the results you wanted anyways, I can't imagine why you're so upset."

There was some shouting on the other end, but let it never be said that Sam didn't have the patience of a saint. Gabriel winced when a few words were made clear from the speaker, but Sam seemed to pay it little mind, waiting for Dean to finish up before clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, to make his own comments.

The conversation seemed to go on forever, and piece by piece Gabriel was figuring out what the issue was. From a mixture of Dean's clear distress, and all of Sam's reassurances, it seemed that Dean-boy had a kid all along, and that his ex had been hiding the fact from him their entire marriage. The details were unclear as to why this was, especially if it seemed as if they were the Brady Bunch for some time, that perhaps at some point, she might have brought it up. But maybe, in the same sense, she realized she couldn't. Gabriel seemed under the impression that it would have been like asking someone's name after knowing them for a few months, and after having spent a great deal of time together.

Needless to say, either she knew they weren't going to last, or she found it awkward to say after such a long time. They're not really good excuses, but they're reasons, none the less.

When Sam had finally hung up the phone with promises to come and and see him, Gabriel had completely forgotten to make him food, and went about undoing the knot that kept the bread fresh. Sam swatted at his hands, telling him he wasn't in the least bit hungry.

"You're all dressed up to leave," Gabriel muttered, gesturing to the larger man's clothes using his butter knife, "if you're leaving, you're eating. You'll forget to otherwise."

Sam looked ready to retort, the edges of his lips upturning pleasantly but the word's died on his lips when there were three sharp knocks banging in quick succession from the front door. The knife in Gabriel's hand stilled as Sam turned his body towards the living room before glancing to Gabriel, making a sharp gesture with his head to have him stay where he was, but the Gabe wasn't having any of it.

With a muttering grunt, Gabriel jumped over the table, surprising Sam enough to stumble back a step as Gabriel tightened his grip on his blunt weapon. Sam hissed at him to come back to the kitchen, something about strangers in the middle of the night, but if Gabriel knew anything about nightly visits, was that they were rarely ever done by people he wouldn't know. Of course, the surprise wasn't dulled once he tore open his front door to see a familiar face smiling down at him. Gabriel's mouth clicked close a few times, blinking for good measure until he was certain he wasn't seeing things that weren't there.

"Balthazar?" he croaked, brows furrowing once the initial shock passed, eyes narrowing at the intruder, "where the fuck did you come from? Wait, no, _how_ did you find me, is the question."

"You've gotten better at wording Gabbie," Balthazar replied with a brilliant smile to boot, his eyes flickering down to his older brother's hands with a snort, "and what were you planning on doing with that toothpick if I had been a threat?"

Gabriel sneered, roughly slamming it down on the door side table where his keys sat, pushing open the door with unnecessary force, "you're avoiding the question, and get inside before someone see's you. It's too fucking cold out and you're wearing nothing but some paper thin jacket," he grabbed Balthazar by the lapels, tugging him inside before the other could react, slamming the door shut. To Balthazar's credit, he barely even stumbled once he was pushed inside.

"Take off the jacket and go have a seat," Gabriel waved him to the general direction of the living room, "I'm guessing this isn't a personal call?"

"When is it ever?" Balthazar gave him a small smile, tugging off the sleeves of his light overcoat, moving to hang it on the coat rack with a shrug.

"I don't think you have the wiring to do something so sentimental," Gabriel retorted, but whatever venom might have been there years ago was all but vacant. This was his little brother, after all.

Balthazar didn't justify that with any sort of verbal response, rubbing his chilled hands together to try and bring some warmth back into them. Gabriel gave him one last look, and once he was sure that the other was out of view, he bee lined his way back into the kitchen where Sam was still standing, head tilted towards the living room and trying to get a good look at the stranger sitting on their couch. Gabriel pushed him further into the kitchen, despite Sam's hushed protests and forced him away from the door frame. Sam was shooting out questions at rapid fire, but Gabriel didn't want to hear it, clamping his hand over the other's mouth with a sharp hush before pushing him to take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Sam, I love you, but please stop talking," he hissed, glancing behind himself and towards the still empty doorway, "it's just my little brother. He's cold, and has some stuff he needs to talk to me about, so I'm going to have to ask you to sneak out the back and avoid his detection, can you do that?"

"Avoid his detection?" Sam whispered back, his brows knitting together to glance to the open doorway, "is this about.. well. You know, me being a guy?"

"What?" if Balthazar hadn't been in the room over, he might have snorted, "he's the last person you need to worry about caring about that."

"Then why do I have to go? Is he dangerous?"

"No he's a nuisances, and you're that last person I want him setting his sights on-"

"Oh Gabbie, I never pegged you as a hidden lover type," the two of them snapped their heads up at the comment, one out of surprise and the other out of annoyance. Balthazar was leaning in the door frame, arms draped over his middle with his legs crossed at the ankles. "And me? A nuisance? Why, I'm wounded."

"Good, maybe you'll bleed to death this time," Gabriel snapped back, letting his hand fall to Sam's shoulders absently. His fingers tightened around the collar, helping the other to his feet before pressing a quick, apologetic kiss, to his cheek. "You have everything?"

"Yeah," Sam glanced between them, giving his boyfriend a lopsided and uneasy smile at that. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, yes, see you tomorrow," Balthazar hummed, reaching out a hand to his retreating and approaching figure, to which Sam reluctantly took out of obligation seeing as the man blocked his escape. "I'm Balthazar, by the way."

"Sam," he nodded curtly, glancing back over to Gabriel before making his escape. They both watched him retreat out the front door, fumbling with pulling on his jacket half hanging off his shoulders, breaking them out of their reverie once the door slid shut behind him. Balthazar was quiet a moment, eyes transfixed on the doorway, but gave a little shrug as he turned towards Gabriel.

"Seem's flighty."

"Sam?" Gabriel actually did snort this time, "no, you scared him away!"

"Little ol' me?" Balthazar pushed away from the archway, stepping further into the room. Gabriel pulled out a chair at the kitchen counter for him, moving around the other end himself to get to the stove. Balthazar accepted the seat gladly, hands still rubbing together. "What exactly did you tell him that would cause a reaction like that?"

"Nothing important," Gabriel waved off, "you want something to drink?" he made a little gesture to the kettle hanging up above the stove, and received a nod in return.

Balthazar gave him a little smile as he watched his brother set himself to filling it up with water, clamping his hands between his thighs, leaning forward on the high stool he was sitting on. "I see you never stopped being a mother hen," he hummed, laughing when the other flipped him the middle finger, "oh you're just as polite as I remember."

"And you've gained an accent since the last I saw you," Gabriel set the kettle to the burner, glancing over his shoulder as he reached for the cabinets for something for him to eat. "What's that about?" his hands paused over the food to shoot the other a look, "and where the _hell_ have you been? I'm pretty sure Cas think's you're _dead_. I don't exactly blame him either, especially after you just up and split like that."

"Oh, you've seen him?" he asked, "how is little Cassie doing? I hate it when he worries. I _did_ intend to send word of where I was, but things got a bit hectic these past few years." Gabriel pulled down some half empty box of oreo's, sliding them over the counter to a bemused looking brother who accepted them in kind regardless. The ' _it's too early in the morning to cook food_ ' was hanging in the air, so he didn't feel inclined to say it.

"Cas is fine," Gabriel shrugged, "you already know Lucifer got him out of the house, but he's living on his own now. Er- Mostly, anyways. Sam's brother Dean lives with him. Something about marriage problems, I think." he shook his head, breathing in sharply, "he's in medical school. Going to become a doctor."

"One of us had to turn out alright," he smiled fondly, "I'm glad Cassie was the one to do it."

"You're not the only one." Gabriel conceded, but eventually shook his head, "but quit avoiding the questions. Where have you been? You disappeared."

" _I'm_ not the only one," Balthazar looked at him pointedly, but when Gabriel didn't grace him with a response, he continued, "I did a bit of seasonal work here and there," he said eventuality, "I'm light on my feet, and can go unseen if I wish. It was just better that you and the rest didn't get involved, because although I missed you, it seemed better to stay away."

"Seasonal work?" Gabriel snagged an oreo out of the box, splitting it open, "what kind of seasonal work are we talking about here? I know you wouldn't put your hand on a plow."

"Just.. things," he shrugged, taking a bite out of one of the cookies but placed the rest onto the counter, "I did a bit of traveling, quit a few jobs here and there before I found something I had a real knack for. Set up a name for myself in Europe for some time, mostly around Stoke-on-Trent but I've reached area's in the lower reaches of Russia to a quaint little town in Ballybrack, Ireland," he paused then, "well, they certainly _seem_ quaint on the surface. Messy business on the underground, however."

Gabriel shot him a look, regarding him fully since he had walked into his house. Gabriel noted his pale sunken cheeks, the white around his lips, and the dark circles under his eyes. There were a few scars that littered about his face; small, unnoticeable ones that could easily be overlooked, but Gabriel had an eye for things that were meant to be noticed, and a knack for seeing things he probably wasn't supposed to. Clever eyed as he scanned him over, frowning at the age that's touched his cheeks and seemed to starve him of colour outside of his red nipped nose, along with the wind burn that scorched the tips of his ears in something that could easily become frost bite if not treated to.

"You're not telling me something," he hadn't meant it as a question, and Balthazar didn't take it as such.

"I am."

"From me?" Gabriel smirked at him, inclining his head, "big brother Gabe? Now you know better than to hide something from me."

Balthazar shifted in his seat, and for the first time since he's stepped into the house, Gabriel can see his nervous little brother again. The one that always squirmed in his chair when Gabriel or Lucifer scrutinized him, the one that always said 'thank you' and 'please' and looked shaken from the smallest things. Balthazar has certainly made a change for himself, but even with all that seems to be under his belt, whatever it happened to be, he still couldn't hold his gaze when he was quite frankly under his big brothers undivided stare. "I can't imagine why you'd want to know."

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't look after you," Gabriel feigned hurt at the notion that he would even _imply_ such a thing, "c'mon Balthy, you know we all make questionable life choices. What's a bit of story telling between brothers?"

The kettle began to hiss, quickly becoming a loud ring before he was able to move it off of the stove top. Reaching for the cups, he made a quick gesture between the cocoa and the tea bags, and Balthazar pointed towards the tea. "-and with some honey, would you please?" Gabriel shook his head but still reached around his cabinets in search for it, pouring a fair amount in the cup before preparing it the rest of the way. Balthazar accepted it in kind, a 'thank you' on his lips before wrapping his chilled hands around the steaming mug, blowing against the surface before taking a sip.

Gabriel waited for him to get a few warm gulps in before attempting to nudge him to submission. Balthazar eventually relented, even if hesitantly, but relenting all the same.

"I get paid to take things here and there," he said after a while, looking into his mug as the steam whisked against his cheeks. Gabriel considered it a moment before rolling his eyes.

"So, you're a thief?" he asked, but Balthazar shook his head.

"I like to think of it as saving things that others do not deserve," he said with a smirk, "it pays a pretty penny here and there, but I've been paid to do worse. I was a mercenary for a while. Messy business."

"A contracted soldier?" the edge of Gabriel's lips perked up, "I never pegged you as the patriotic type."

"More like the Trying To Survive type," Balthazar frowned, "I never said I enjoyed it. Killing isn't fun, and I've never played all that well with others, but the money is good. I can't really complain either because I'm good at what I do. It's petty business, but I _like_ being able to show off what I can do. Which, speaking of petty business, brings me to why I'm here." Gabriel followed the swoop of his arm as he reached down into his front pocket, pulling out his phone with a swift movement. He did some complicated passcode, going through some things that Gabriel couldn't follow with his eyes until Balthazar set down the phone and pushed it towards him. He looked over it curiously, picking it up with a tentative hand before settling on the message.

The number wasn't one he recognized, and there didn't seem to be any previous corresponding between them. Gabriel chewed the inside of his lip, looking down at the message with a piqued interest.

_The sun shall be turned to darkness, and the moon to blood, before the great and awesome day of the Lord comes. Joel 2:31._

Underneath was a picture, but when he tried to open it, it wouldn't load. Right above the photo, attached to the link, simply said in smaller letters:

_Big things are coming._

Gabriel looked towards his little brother, who seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

"Ah," he murmured, "petty business."

"Do you know who sent that?" It wasn't really question, but Balthazar had the decency to word it like one.

"Something tell's me that you're going to tell me whether I do or not."

"I have a feeling," Balthazar raised his hand, " _just_ a feeling, because I can't be too certain with these things, that this mess of words came from old brother dearest."

"Which one?"

"Who else would send batshit religious humbo jumbo?" he waved his hand in irritation.

Gabriel's face scrunched up, "why would Raphael waste his time texting you? He know's you don't give half a damn about his psychobabble."

"I know," he made another gesture to the phone sitting dormant between them, "and I know that he _also_ knows this. So I flew oversea's to get the deets."

Gabriel paused then, narrowing his eyes, "why the sudden interest?"

"Really?" Balthazar snorted, as if baffled by the simple question of why he _wouldn't_ be interested. "Raphie somehow get's his hands on my number, send's me an anonymous message about 'big things' and I don't hear from him since. What about that _isn't_ up my alley, eh? It could be something small like him believing the world's going to end again like he had when the 2000's hit, or we're preparing for some sort of war and need to strap on our nice socks and garters."

"You can't honestly believe that."

"I trust his gut feeling's," Balthazar conceded, "sometimes they're over-exaggerated, but then again something _always_ happens, so I'm just waiting for the big double O five."

"Do you even know where to find him?"

"Big church," he snapped his finger, "from what I gather, he rarely leaves the place. You should come along too."

"Nah," Gabriel waved off, "I can only take so much ignorance in one place before my skin starts falling off. You have fun, give him my love, maybe knock some sense into him."

"Oh please, like you've ever been able to turn down a chance to make a grand entrance," Gabriel didn't respond, but Balthazar didn't miss the slight smirk on his lips as he turned away, "he won't be expecting you. I'll even let you walk in first, kick down the door during congregation with one of your blasted suckers in your mouth."

"Have Sammy on one of my arms, wearing a tunic maybe." He turned to look at his brother with one of his grins; the one Balthazar remembered from their childhood, whenever Gabriel got into scheming. He can remember the pranks and cruel practical jokes he used to play on their older brothers; the ones he always claimed had a message to them, no matter how big or small they happened to be. Gabriel may not look much like he had then as he did now, but that smile was still there, and whether he planned to put it to use was another thing entirely.

"So, visiting America," Gabriel hummed distantly, tapping his finger against the surface of his kitchen counter, "where are you staying?"

"Around."

"Not what I asked."

"I don't think you want to hear the answer."

"No, because I already know the answer," he grabbed the forgotten package of oreo's and pushed them to the side, "you're staying with me."

"What?"

"Don't sound so shocked," Gabriel grabbed the empty mug from the other's pinkening hands, slowly getting their colour back, "you were planning on doing it anyways, so instead of skipping around asking, I'm saving you time. I _don't_ have a spare room though, so you're going to have to sleep on the couch."

Balthazar raised his hands in mock surrender, "of course, of course."

"Where are your clothes?"

"In a bag in my car."

"Well go get them, I'll snag you some clean sheets okay?"

Balthazar nodded to him, pushing to stand. He made it as far as the front door when he heard Gabriel's steps walking away somewhere, presumably to gather the blankets he had been talking about. His hand hesitated on the doorknob; he came here and did what he already had to do. Gabriel looks alive and well -- _happy_ his mind corrected. Clean, another part whispered when he glanced about. And that, in the end, was all he needed to know.

Gabriel wished he could have said he didn't feel disappointed when he heard the rev of an engine pick up, and the sound of falling gravel when tires pulled away. His hands held the blankets carefully, still standing in the closet doorway. He didn't move for some time after, the house sitting in silence until he carefully closed the closet door, covers still in his arms as he reached the vacant living room. He said nothing as he placed the folded covers at the end of the couch, looking towards the door where his thin jacket was still hanging on the rack, shutting off the lights as he made his way back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, sorry for the (super) delay on getting this out. (Like jesus it's been months I am so sorry) I've been having such an issue with writing as of late, (that being said, I'm going to try and keep these chapters around 10,000 words and below, to help get out updates out easier, and gives you all more to read if I push things out more) I wasn't sure when I'd be able to catch up. Sorry for the wait, but (unfortunately) I'm sure you're getting somewhat used to it. If it's any consolation, I still intend to finish this thing, and I found that this whole story is going to be a little over seventy chapters so, there's that to look forward to. ^^
> 
> I'm really going to start working on getting out these updates. So, once again, dreadfully sorry for the waits; I assure you that I will get it finished, and that I'll start putting a bit of a schedule on when I get to updating as well.


End file.
